


The Truth in the Lie

by rWolfWrites



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cos we a hoe for that, Drunk and Disorderly, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Relationship, Foul Language, I mean Elia and Rhaegar's son, I'm anti-idolizing-Ned-Stark-as-a-perfect-father, I'm not anti-Ned Stark, In Vino Veritas, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Language, Minor Gun Violence, Modern AU, Okay I know it says Aegon Targaryen but literally there are so many, Past Abuse, Past Ramsay, Slow Burn, The slowest I can stand as a writer, Who's not really OG at all but you know, Ygritte is dead, inconvenient boners, mostly in chapter 29 tho, quite a bit of dissociation, smut kinda in ch 28, snarky Starks, the Targaryens - Freeform, the doll scene with Sansa is really like my whole argument there, the og
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 111,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rWolfWrites/pseuds/rWolfWrites
Summary: Jon Snow was used to fucking things up, one way or another. He’d long accepted that he was born a mistake, and there was no reason for the mistakes to stop there. He didn’t go out of his way, but the universe often managed to pull the rug out from under him regardless.It started innocently. No, not innocently. It started in a blaze of red and fury.It started with Sansa Stark, his best mate’s younger sister, wearing a dress that made it impossible not to think about what lay beneath. It started with a drunken bastard having the gall to touch her as he passed.Robb had not been able to hold Jon back. Sam and Theon had gotten to Robb before anyone noticed Jon had gone the sort of red that boded poorly.It started with red and fury. Hair, blood, that infernal dress, a flat apology.She had not recovered from her latest ex, and she had not recovered from her first ex. She’d never shied away from a man the way she had that night, inappropriate behavior or not. Like she was expecting to be hit, Jon’d noted. He didn’t like it, never had, never would.No *spice* before chapter 28
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 352
Kudos: 582





	1. The Not-Fight

Jon felt happy. The good kind of happy. The best kind of happy. The sort of happy that made him smile and laugh more times in a handful of hours than he had all the rest of the year prior. Or, so it felt.

He also felt drunk, and his sober mind knew that the happiness was not to last. His drunk mind took this as encouragement to enjoy said happiness to the fullest.

He watched Sansa Stark slip off to the bathroom on her own, midnight blue dress tight around her hips and quite fantastic ass, his eyes drifting up her back (predominantly exposed by a sheer sort of fabric that reached over her shoulders to cover most of her cleavage, meaning only a small amount of it was actually covered by the opaque fabric hugging her form) to the spattering of freckles over her shoulders. Gorgeous deep red hair piled atop her head, her slim, undoubtedly elegant neck exposed to all the world. He’d never thought anyone’s neck elegant before.

The bar was a tad crowded, but with her strap-laden silver heels, Sansa was taller than over ninety per cent of the women and close to seventy-five per cent the men. She was most certainly taller than him.

Jon’s eyes tracked her, and he was not the only one. Robb cleared his throat slightly, taking a long pull of his beer. “Four minutes and we’ll ask a server to check the bathroom. That’s . . .” He checked his phone hastily. “Twelve past one.”

“Wish Margaery had made it,” Jon said, eyeing his own half-finished ale. He couldn’t remember how many it was, or how many rounds of shots there had been. Only that Sansa was keeping up, a fact both troubling and immensely worrying.

Her last break up had been worse than her first, a feat no one had thought possible until they met the second man. Jon had broken his nose, nearly his jaw too. Theon had grabbed Sansa’s hand and helped her into his car and left. Jon took her car and followed. According to Theon, she didn’t cry until they reached the flat Jon shared with Theon and Robb, until she saw the fear in Robb’s eyes and the blood on Jon’s knuckles.

No one spoke of it, not even with five months distance. Sansa was better these days, according to Arya and Margaery, but she had her dark moments. Jon could relate.

Going out with her and the boys, like old times, was supposed to help. Jon wished she was half as happy as he was. Even if it was just the booze.

He and Robb kept on alert, watching the crowds for that pop of red and cream and blue. At 1:11:16, she appeared.

Jon loved the way she walked. Straight back, shoulders wide, face of stone with vibrant blue eyes darkened into a death glare to rival her mother’s. Not even Arya’s compared. It made the hair on his arms stand up every time.

Jon was a little scared of Sansa Stark sometimes, and he’d have it no other way.

He’d been Robb’s best friend since before anyone could remember. He was always at their old but large manor growing up. Sansa had always been a blip on the radar, an extra and exceedingly easy target for teasing, mimicking her mother’s exasperated frowns at the dirt and bruises covering him and Robb. Theon joined when they were all nine, and the trio had been an unstoppable force of nature since.

Sansa hadn’t registered fully as a human being, a woman, until the latest break up. She’d been in the South for the first, though Robb had tried to go down and drag her out sooner. She got out on her own. She came North, but Jon had been so preoccupied with his ex-girlfriend dying of fucking cancer to spend much time with anyone else.

He still couldn’t believe that snooty little Sansa Stark had been the one thing that could draw him out of his grief ridden depression. Or that he would stay out of it for . . . Well, ever since, for the most part.

He must’ve been drunker than he thought if he was reminiscing so much. He’d made a conscious effort to remain in the present and near future of late. His therapist thought it was a good idea, and Jon didn’t disagree.

“This place is a little loud, isn’t it?” Sam half-shouted.

“Aye, but none of us can fucking drive some’ere else, can we?” Theon laughed. “I’m good to fuck or fight, preferably fuck, but driving isn’t happening.”

Theon was not just drunk, but cross-faded, and Jon agreed with his assessment.

The crowd shifted in a rare moment of surreptitious bad luck for a stranger. Sansa was nearly back to them, in fact she was already starting to pull her purse off her shoulder to replace it over the back of her chair. Jon stood because he definitely needed to take a piss before he finished his beer. Sansa touched his shoulder so he wouldn’t bump into her accidentally, and he turned to look at her, a little surprised at his too-wobbly legs.

A stray hand splayed between her legs from behind, and Sansa locked up with a strangled gasp. Her shoulders raised almost to her ears as she folded in on herself. She didn’t even move away.

Jon barely heard the coarse laugh. Chairs scraped and Sansa said his name. Robb’s too.

His fists clenched, his blood boiled.

Sam grabbed one of Robb’s arms and Theon the other, dragging him back before he could do anything.

Jon saw red. He took Sansa’s wrist, her hand still on his shoulder, and pulled her into his space, pushing her toward his vacated chair and stepping forward.

He still had a slight grip on her when he decked the asshole. He released her fully, taking another step forward, grabbing the man’s shirt and delivering another brutal blow. He held the far shorter, middle-aged man up on his toes. His eyes were hazy and unfocused.

“Apologize,” Jon snarled. “Or I’ll break your fingers one by fucking one.”

“S’m- Uhm sorry’m,” he slurred.

Sansa’s nails dug into Jon’s shoulder. It was very possible they’d been doing so for quite some time. Jon barely registered it. Her voice came very close to his ear. “I’m all right, Jon. Let him go. Jon. Jon, let him go.”

He did, shoving the man back slightly.

“Let’s go,” Sansa said softly. Jon nodded dully, pulling out his wallet and dropping several notes on the table. Sam let go of Robb to do the same. Then Theon.

Robb held out a hand to Sansa. She took it and they marched out together. Jon frowned, putting and extra couple of tenners down and following them, grabbing Theon and Sam as he did.

He flexed his knuckles as they hit the pavement outside. Humid summer air threatened to choke him as he tried to reboot his mind. He just kept seeing Sansa’s shoulders raise, hearing that little squeak of fear.

He knew his hands were trembling even as they all broke into a run, Sansa heels in Robb’s hands, dashing across the street and around the corner. A narrowly avoided misdemeanor had taught them not to stick around after something like that. They paid in cash so there’d be no card with their names, only likely standard definition security footage from a bad angle or two. They didn’t go around picking fights, but when your best mate’s little sister was objectively very fucking hot, shit happened.

He’d never straight punched a man for her before the latest break up. That made two. And he craved a good one on the first bastard as well. Usually, it was Robb doing the punching. Theon could hold him back in his sleep, though he knew when not to, and Sam (while a newer addition to their troop) knew exactly what to say to get through to him. Jon was normally the one standing between the asshole and his friends. He knew from experience that he could take a hit or two. He de-escalated things; he was de-escalator. Not a mad man with fists of fury.

They stopped near their parking lot, Sam doubling over with a wheeze. Sansa searched her purse and procured his inhaler hastily. Jon folded his hands behind his head and wandered out of the streetlight’s glow, trying to force the thick air through his lungs. He felt unsteady, trembling from the adrenaline. He spit at the asphalt, trying to get the bitter taste from his mouth.

“Broken glass,” Theon muttered. “Watch your step.”

Sansa touched his shoulder before Jon could turn and ask what he was on about. She was barefooted, now that Robb had her heels. Sam took a greedy puff from his inhaler.

“Are you all right?” Sansa asked lowly.

“Should be asking you that,” Jon grumbled. She nodded, grabbing his wrist out from behind his head and turning his hand over so his knuckles showed.

“Not so bad,” she pushed at the knuckle of his middle finger, which was bleeding. She released him and dug into her purse again, procuring a small water bottle and a band-aid. He took the water and downed half it before screwing the lid back on and tossing it toward Theon, who caught it deftly. Sansa unwrapped the band-aid.

“‘Nother bar?” Theon passed the water to Robb. He procured what had affectionately been dubbed The Weeder (for it’s ability to weed out the weak from the strong), a vape pen that went through cartridges faster than a Tully through water. Theon’s lung capacity was a marvel; Robb coughed through his second hit trying to match him.

Sansa’s fingers shook too much to fully free the little bandage. Jon took it from her, willing his hands steady as they brushed against hers. He tore open the package and handed her the garbage, knowing the lecture he’d get if he crumpled it into a ball and threw it as far as he could. She helped him apply the band-aid since the injury was to his dominant hand.

“Thanks.”

“My hero,” she smiled slightly, then turned to pick her way back over to her brother. Jon grabbed her hand hastily.

“Your- uh, your dress,” Jon cleared his throat. He tried to say it as quietly as humanly possible. “Pull it down a little.”

It must have ridden up while she was running, and her ass was starting to hang out. Not that that was a bad thing, but he didn’t think her aware of it. Sure enough, her ears went pink as she gripped the hem and tugged it down a good few inches.

“Thanks, Jon,” she said.

“I’d keep going,” Robb said, looking to Sansa. He was not one to end on a low note.

“Bouncers round here all know each other,” Jon shook his head. “I’m out, and there’s only so many fight-starting redheads.”

“I didn’t start anything!”

“He meant fight-starting-worthy,” Theon said.

Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t make sense, Theon.”

“Well,” Sam shrugged a shoulder. “It sort of does, really.”

“Sam.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere else anyway,” Sansa cut in before they could start bickering. She’d referred to Jon and Sam as ‘The Husbands’ since Robb had started inviting her to hangout. This despite Sam’s very pregnant fiancee. “You guys go on, I’m . . . I’m done.”

Robb and Jon had a conversation in the way only they could. Jon met his eyes, Robb took a hit from The Weeder. Jon nodded. Robb shrugged, exhaling smoke with a light cough. Sansa rolled her eyes, flipping them both off.

They turned to her with a frown. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

“Give me the keys, Robb. I’ll wait in the car, I don’t need a damned bodyguard,” Sansa held out her hand, marching forward.

The next look the men shared was tinged with panic. “How in seven hells-“

“Please, I’ve known you two since I was born,” Sansa huffed. “And while it’s considerate that you’d think sitting in a locked car unsafe for me, I think I’ll be just fine.”

Robb threw her the keys. She turned and headed across the parking lot without waiting. Jon grumbled, taking her shoes from Robb and jogging after her. “Sansa!”

“Jon, I really don’t- Ow!” She stopped abruptly, holding dead still. Jon saw why very quickly: as Theon had warned, there was broken glass littering the parking lot. She’d walked straight into a little minefield of it.

“Don’t move,” Jon murmured, coming around in front of her. “Hold these.” He gave her the shoes, then put his back to her. She jumped up without much hesitation but another pained whimper.

“I think it’s stuck in there,” she said.

“I’ll take it out when we get to the car,” Jon vowed. There was first aid kit under the front seat, which would be better than whatever she had stashed away in that massive purse of hers anyhow. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he noted even in the dim light how much she was bleeding. “Aegon incarnate, Sansa, you should’ve been paying attention-“

“I know, Jon,” she snapped. She clung slightly tighter to him. “Tonight turned sour very quickly.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“If my dress was two inches longer, it wouldn’t have happened,” she said bitterly. “Margaery thought I should wear it.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Jon said, trying for neutrality. He cleared his throat as they started weaving through cars. Robb had to park on the exact opposite side of the lot. “Doesn’t give anyone permission to touch you, though.”

“Yes, well,” Sansa let out a sharp breath that tickled the back of his neck. His dark, curly hair was trapped at the top of his head in an efficient knot. Sansa might’ve drowned in it otherwise. “If only your species grasped that concept fully.”

Jon shook his head, “Treating us as incapable of doing so only makes things worse. Everyone’s accountable for their own actions. Or, they should be.”

Sansa was quiet as they wandered, trying to catch sight of Robb’s little silver hatchback. It was like a clown car when the five of them went out; people just kept tumbling out of the back seat. “You graduated with honors, right?”

“Magna cum laude,” he confirmed.

“And law school when?”

“When I pay off the debt I’ve already got,” Jon scoffed. “Probably ‘round my mid-forties.” He tried not to dwell on that. “The firm I’m working with might offer to pay for it, though. If not . . . I don’t know that they’ll keep me on when they find out I can’t afford it.”

“That’s stupid,” Sansa hummed. “It’s over there.” She pointed over his shoulder, and he followed that to the sight of Robb’s dinged up but clean car. Sansa fumbled with her shoes and the keys for a moment, then she unlocked the car, making the lights flash twice as it chirped.

Using the flashlight on his phone and a pair of tweezers, Jon carefully pulled out the small piece of brown glass embedded in the sole of Sansa’s foot. She found another of those little water bottles and screwed off the top. Jon used it to clean off her foot, then some anti-bacterial spray from the first aid kit. A bit of gauze and some medical tape and she was as good as new.

If only it were that simple, Jon thought.

They sat in the car in silence for some time. Jon turned it on only to crack his window before turning it off and locking it. Sansa stayed in the back seat, lying down and letting her hair out of it’s tie.

He got a text from Robb about half an hour later. _Piishng in bush. On wst bacj. She kkag?_

Jon sighed, trying to translate the drunken idiot into normal talk. _Sansa’s fine. No need to hurry_.

“Robb is worried about you,” Jon finally spoke, though he wasn’t entirely sure she was even awake. There was no blue glow to indicate she was on her phone. Sansa sighed softly.

“I know.”

“Coming out was supposed to be fun.”

“I know.” Her voice was weak, broken. Jon frowned, turning in his seat to look back at her. She held one hand to the light, picking at her nails.

“Sansa.”

She looked at him, her pretty blue eyes dark.

“Tell him no next time,” he said slowly. “He loves you but he doesn’t know what to do. You have to set boundaries.”

“I want to be fine,” Sansa whispered. “If I just do everything like before . . . It’ll be fine.”

“That’s not how it works,” Jon said, trying to keep his exasperation out of his voice.

“Yeah, and you’re doing so well.”

When Sansa was younger, she was a brat. Her mother’s first girl, one who wanted to be a lady through and through. The only thing her mother had ever scolded her for, in front of him, Robb, or Theon, was her scathing wit.

“How do you think I know it doesn’t work?” Jon snapped back, glaring at her. “You think when she died that I just moved back home for shits and giggles?!”

“I hate that phrase,” Sansa wrinkled her nose, turning her head toward the seat to avoid his gaze.

“You can’t just run and hide.”

“Actually, that’s worked out all right when I can manage it,” Sansa mumbled. Jon clenched his fists.

“You have to do better-“

“Why?! Because you and Robb demand it?!” Sansa sat straight up, her finger very quickly in his face. “I’m done with that.”

She got out of the car and limped away a few paces, her arms stubbornly crossed. Jon grumbled but didn’t go after her. He took a deep breath and watched her. She kept her back straight, paced a step or two this way, a step or two that way. It was clear that it pained her.

He opened his door. “Come sit down.”

She ignored him. He didn’t know what he expected. He rubbed at his jaw a moment and climbed out, leaning against the car door. “They’re on their way back. Sit in the car.”

She kept limping and pacing. He marked every wince with every other step.

“Sansa.”

He sighed, venturing toward her. Red leaked through the white bandage he’d made. “You feel like losing a foot to a stupid infection?”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “I need to stop hanging out with men.”

“There’s a couple of ladies at work I can introduce you to,” Jon offered. “Lawyers and the like.” Sansa pursed her lips for a moment. “If you want.”

“I’m going to sit in the car,” Sansa said imperially. She lifted her chin stubbornly, and Jon waited for her to break. Starks were a different breed of overly willful. He’d seen Robb admit to failure about twice. The little ones were worse. Arya had a way of twisting things to her favor no matter the outcome. Bran was as infallible as any fifteen year old boy thought he could be. Rickon was wild and unapologetic.

Finally, Jon caved. “Do you need help?” Sansa dipped her chin only once, then cast her gaze to their feet. Jon picked her up easily, an arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees. She wrapped hers around his neck but still didn’t look at him.

The smallest little thank you was all he got. He closed the back door behind her and went and sat on the hood. Her warmth didn’t linger long enough.

He’d often been mistaken for either Sansa’s brother or her boyfriend. Never anything in between. Part of it was that Jon never really thought much about Sansa. They’d grown up together, and then she’d been gone, and then she was back. He beat the living shit out of her second ex because he was a vile monster. He liked to think he’d do the same for any woman who called him and his friends up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t sure it was true.

The problem was, if he looked too close, he might find something he could fuck up. He’d fucked up a lot of things in his life, but he absolutely refused to fuck up things with Sansa, because that would fuck up things with Robb. He was good at fucking things up, really good. Most were little fuck-ups, prone occurring at exactly the wrong moment. They built up too quickly for his liking. He’d most definitely fucked things up with Ygritte, even before the universe expounded on that fuck up and gave her brain cancer. Honestly, Jon Snow had been born because of one big fuck up, and he’d lived up to that mistake quite well.

A knock on the window behind him made him start. Sansa waved at him. Jon sighed and came round, opening her door. “What?”

“Your brooding thing,” Sansa said. Jon scowled at her. “That’s what it is, don’t deny it. I just . . . How do you stop? How d’you get out of your own head?”

Her face was guarded, eyes narrowed, mouth downturned, brows cinched together. Yet innocence still churned amongst the blue of her eyes. They’d always teased Sansa for liking fairytales, then when she was older for reading romances. Jon was glad she hadn’t lost that belief in . . . in good things, perhaps. In honor and hope.

“Jon?”

He realized abruptly that he had no idea how long he had been staring. He smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Obviously I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

She smiled a little. “What does a dolt like you have to think about?”

“All the different ways a person could be intelligent,” Jon smirked. “My Dean’s List awards, the recommendations written by my professors, the people at work who find my additions helpful, the statutes and precedents I have memorized-“

“You know, I held a four point through-“

“Your English degree, I know,” Jon said, unable to stop the condescending note to his voice.

“I took Calc II. You could barely pass Pre-Calc in secondary, Jon Snow.”

“Well, Sansa, I suppose you’re going to find a practical application for your knowledge of . . . Erm, whatever it is one learns in Calc II.”

“I’m going to edit for one of the largest publications in Westeros,” Sansa said.

“But you don’t, do you?”

“Oh, like you’re working for Targaryen and Sons in King’s Landing?”

Jon stiffened, and Sansa covered her mouth with her hands. He’d found out who his father was when he turned eighteen, but he’d already moved for university by then. He hadn’t told a soul for months. Sam was the first to know, given that he got Jon drunker than a sailor. Well, Jon got himself drunker than a sailor. A few weeks later, Robb knew. Jon had told Robb’s father at Christmas, and he assumed the others had been filled in discreetly after. Apparently, that was a correct assumption.

“Jon, I’m-“

“Jon!”

He groaned, recognizing the level of sobriety his best friend had reached by that one word alone.

Sure enough, Robb had an arm around Theon’s neck, and they dragged each other across the parking lot, Sam trailing behind, beet red and giggling to himself.

“Just get in the front seat,” muttered Jon. Sansa moved with surprising speed, scrambling over the center console into the passenger seat. She started opening a water as Jon finagled Robb and Theon into the back. They fought the seatbelts, but Jon won. Sam smacked his head on the door, spurring on a cacophony of laughter and concern. He fit into the back and managed to wrangle his own seatbelt until Jon heard the telltale click.

Jon was used to Robb’s car, given he didn’t yet have one of his own. The drive over to their flat went smoothly, even though Sansa had to turn the radio off. Robb and Theon could not sing, and sober they knew that. Drunk was a different story.


	2. Hanging Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa coerce the bois (TM) to bed and find themselves alone

Getting into the apartment sucked. Jon sent Sansa ahead with his keys to make sure all the necessary doors were opened. She held the lobby door, then ran and got the elevator, holding it for them. Robb and Theon nearly fell down as they attempted to sit on the floor, something Jon quickly curbed, and loudly proclaimed their love of each other and women and Jon and Sam and Sansa and Ned Stark. Sam giggled. He had been a giggly drunk when Jon had met him at university, and Jon secretly hoped he always would be. Because of Sam’s little giggles, he was smiling when they reached the flat, not ready to murder his almost-brothers.

Sansa pried Robb off Theon and guided him to his room. Jon took charge of Theon.

“My fishies,” Theon grabbed Jon’s shirt as he walked the thinner man backwards to his bed. “They’re hungry.”

“I’ll feed Rainbow Sparkles in the morning,” Jon vowed. Theon’s eyes stuck on the small goldfish in what was probably too large a tank beside the door. Jon shoved Theon onto his bed, helped him lie on his side, and brought the trashcan across the room, leaving it on the floor by his head.

“Rainbow Sparkles had a wee little bappy,” Theon whispered. “‘Cept it’s just as big.”

“I’ll feed them in the morning,” Jon said again. “You’ve got a bin right here. Stay on your side—better to wake up in vomit than suffocate in it.”

“Supplicate in it,” Theon attempted to echo.

“Right. I’ll get some-“

Sansa knocked on the door frame, a glass of water in her hand. Jon mouthed his thanks. “Theon, Sansa got you some water. I’ll leave it right here, on your bedside table, okay?”

“Sansa?” Theon lifted his head, his eyes going cross-eyed. Sansa waved. “Beautiful angel, Sansa. I love yooooouuuu.”

“Get some sleep, Theon.” 

“ _I wuuuuv yooouuuooooouuuu_ ,” he crooned.

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” Jon shook his head, backing out of Theon’s room. He winced as he stepped in a pair of jeans lying on the floor, kicking them away before he could tell if there were boxers in the jeans. He really didn’t want to know. Sansa flicked off the light.

“Night, Theon.”

Jon shut the door behind him carefully. Sam snored from the couch. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was a three-bedroom flat, which was perfect until Sansa sporadically started crashing over. Usually she took Robb’s room and Robb took Jon’s and he took the couch, or Robb just took the couch. It depended on who had to get up earliest. Once, Theon had been forced to it. It wasn’t a bad couch, wasn’t small or uncomfortable or anything. It just wasn’t a bed.

Jon picked Sam’s phone off the floor, typed in the passcode, and texted Gilly that Sam was staying over. She’d wake to the text, no doubt.

“I can have Arya come get me real quick,” Sansa said softly, wandering into the kitchen. She pulled two glasses down. “Water or stronger?”

“Stronger,” Jon decided immediately. “Unless you want me to drive you over.”

“It’s all the way across town,” Sansa shook her head, rummaging around the cabinets until she found the whiskey. Jon swallowed nervously.

“You sure?”

“I’ll see if she’s up-“

“Just take my bed. A couple shots of that and I’ll sleep face-down on the floor,” Jon leaned against the counter next to her. She rolled her eyes at him, putting ice in both glasses before pouring quite a bit in. She met his eyes for a moment, then kept pouring, topping both off.

“Last one standing gets the bed,” she said.

Jon shook his head. “I get that you’re a bit taller than me, but you may as well just ask me to take it, ‘cause the answer's still ‘no.’”

She put the drink in his hand and limped off to his room, carrying her own. “Bet.”

Jon snorted, “All right, I’ll play your little game.”

He would drink, and she would drink, and she would be too drunk to avoid him putting her in the bed and leaving her there.

At least, that was the plan. Jon knew full well that he could fuck up the plan very easily, especially with whiskey involved, but if he didn’t, Sansa couldn’t even be mad at him. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. She’d always been on him and Robb and Theon about behaving like gentlemen.

“You put this on the rocks like we’re classy or something,” Jon chuckled, swishing the ice cubes around. He and Sansa sat on the little round rug at the foot of his bed. His room was clean more because he didn’t have much than anything else. All his things were in the right places, though. Clean clothes in drawers or on hangers, dirty in the hamper in the corner. He didn’t have knickknacks. He had a couple of framed Dean’s List awards, plus his diploma. He had two photos: one of his mother, and one with him, Robb, and Theon.

“One of us _is_ classy,” Sansa said, sipping elegantly. Jon thought she did most things elegantly. His eyes wandered to the slope of her neck.

He cleared his throat, “D’you want something else to wear?”

Sansa bit her lip, looking around his room. He drank just to do something, deeper than she had.

He didn’t think they had spent as much time alone over a full decade than they had just that night. It wasn’t bad. He just had to make sure the whiskey made him drunk, not stupid.

Not that they were mutually exclusive.

“You don’t mind?” Sansa asked. Jon’s eyes dropped down to the way she sat—feet tucked under her with one hand hovering to keep her dress pulled down.

He handed her his glass, jumping to his feet. He grabbed a shirt soft from the years and a pair of sweats with a drawstring. “You know where the bathroom is.”

“And risk waking the drunken demon duo? Just close your eyes,” Sansa set their drinks on the floor. Jon frowned at her as she took his clothes out of his hands. “Well?”

“It’s my bloody room-“

“My foot hurts,” Sansa explained softly. Jon sighed, turning his back to her and closing his eyes. He heard her shuffle and curse. She huffed out a breath or two. Finally, “Can- Can you unzip me?”

Jon hesitated, “That means I can look, right?”

“Of course, you can look, you have to _see_ the zipper, Jon,” she said. Jon opened his eyes. She huffed again. “Hurry up.”

“You’re still a whiny little brat,” Jon muttered, twisting to find her with her back to him. Jon didn’t see how she couldn’t reach the zipper—most her back was exposed by that sheer fabric anyhow. Then he realized he couldn’t find it. “Where . . . ?” Sansa lifted her right arm. It ran down along her side. “You couldn’t reach that?”

Sansa held up her left hand. It shook violently. “I- I can’t hold it.”

Jon stepped forward, unhooking the clasp at the top and trying very hard not to brush her creamy skin with his calloused hands. He tried to steady his breath as she let her left hand fall to her other side. “That just from tonight?”

“I snorted Adderall in the bathroom at the bar.”

Jon jolted, hand slipping off the zipper. “You what?!”

“Shh! I’m kidding!” Sansa hissed, shoving him back weakly. “It’s just nerves.”

“Why should you be nervous? It’s just me,” Jon frowned. Sansa glanced at him over her shoulder, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Someone ought to have fixed that. She smiled suddenly, then laughed. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she shook her head. He frowned as she pulled at the dress, confused when she lifted the broad straps up and ducked her head through the zipper hole, arms flailing just a little. The next thing he knew, the dress dropped, pooled at her feet. Jon turned on his heel, cheeks burning. Sansa sighed, and Jon heard rustling as she changed. He didn’t close his eyes because it was rude to imagine your best friend’s sister’s bum. Or the little scraps of lace covering that bum, and the absolutely nothing covering her chest. He could imagine it well enough without closing his eyes, and that was bad and rude and fuck-up-able on its own. Especially since he was currently alone with said sister in his very own room, bed large enough for two just sitting there.

“I’m decent.”

More than decent by his judging but Seven knew nobody cared about that.

Jon tried to ignore her, dropping back to his little blue rug and grabbing one of the drinks. They were both full enough that it didn’t matter much whose was whose. The ice lost mass quickly, and Jon drank a little while he waited for Sansa to sit.

She did so like the perfect five-year-old: crisscross, applesauce, hands in her lap. Then, unlike a five-year-old, she grabbed her whiskey and drank. And drank.

“Easy, Sansa,” Jon reached across to grab her free hand. She raised an eyebrow at him and swallowed one more time. She was nearly as red as he felt he must be. She stopped, pulling out of his grip to wipe her mouth daintily.

“Go on, then,” Sansa said, holding up her glass. Jon measured about how much she’d done and drank about the same, maybe a little more. He set his down on the floor and Sansa put hers beside it.

The whiskey warmed his insides, made him feel it before the alcohol could truly rear its ugly head.

“Why don’t we hang out?” Sansa asked slowly.

“We are hanging out,” Jon chuckled.

“No, I mean other than tonight,” Sansa scowled at him. “It’s not something we do. Why not?”

Jon remembered the month or two where he could drive and Robb couldn’t, when he had to go and pick Sansa up from ballet or Model UN or whatever activity it was that day of the week. He borrowed Ned Stark’s pickup truck or Ms. Catelyn’s little sedan, and unless Robb was feeling particularly good, went alone. Otherwise Theon would demand to come, and Sansa would complain about being shoved into the back seat. Ned Stark paid him probably too much to do it, but Jon never told Robb or Sansa that.

“Remember when I’d pick you up from school?” Jon mumbled. Sansa nodded, her eyes dropping away from him. “We never talked more than ‘you’re late’ or ‘lovely weather.’ And then I left. So, I don’t know, I guess I sort of assumed you didn’t want to talk.”

“Well, you were a sullen bastard and harder to crack than an oyster,” Sansa said, reaching for her whiskey.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You hardly ever spoke a word either! I’d try with something you couldn’t be upset about and you’d just grunt,” Sansa attempted to mimic him. Jon laughed, and she kept drinking.

“What was that supposed to be, some sort of pig?” Jon waited for her to finish and matched her. They set their glasses on the floor. Sansa had gained an edge on him, but it was a tiny one and it worked for Jon’s plan anyhow. “And, for the record, saying ‘you’re late’ was an invitation for you to explain why.”

Sansa scowled, though her cheeks got rapidly pinker, “You said it like I was going to get someone killed, I didn’t want to be defensive! It was usually nothing!”

“Oh, usually?”

“Do it.”

“Do what?”

“Your little,” Sansa tried to mimic him again. Jon laughed again. She scooted forward only to shove his shoulder. “Go on, if it’s so much better than that.”

It took Jon a moment to stop grinning like a fool. Twice he calmed down, looked at Sansa, and started laughing again. She pouted, waited. Jon took a deep breath, made himself scowl. Then he made that neutral noise that encouraged people to stop trying to talk to him.

“Yes! That’s it!”

“Shhhhhh!” Jon put a finger to his lips. “Drunken demon duo.”

“Oh,” Sansa whispered. “I’d nearly forgot.”

Jon laughed at her and reclaimed his whiskey. “You’re right, Sansa.”

“I usually am. This time it’s?”

“We should hang out,” Jon smirked. He waited until she started to smile and then knocked back the rest of his whiskey. It was a lot. He coughed, shaking his head like a wet dog.

“Ah shit,” Sansa looked down at her glass.

“You don’t have to,” Jon said. “Tap out, I’ll give you the bed.”

Sansa did not break his gaze. “I’m not going down that easy.” She lifted the glass to her lips, took a deep breath, and drank.

She coughed a lot longer than he had, glass clenched tight in her hands. Jon took it away and grabbed his, climbing to his feet. He swayed in a way that foreboded danger. He opened the door quietly, glancing around the dark flat. Sam’s soft snoring greeted him. The light in the bathroom glowed underneath the door and through the slim crack in the almost shut doorway. As Jon crept toward the dark kitchen, he heard vomiting. He left the glasses in the sink and made his way to the bathroom.

Robb was having a tidy sort of vomit. He’d thrown up the seat of the toilet and had his cheek against the rim of the bowl. While the smell was something, Jon didn’t see any stray vomit, either on Robb’s person or any of the rest of the bathroom.

“D’you need some water?” Jon asked. Robb shook his head slightly. “Help back to bed?”

“‘M fine,” Robb closed his eyes. “Just angry. Sans go home?”

“She’s gonna crash in my room. Sam’s on the couch.”

“Sam’s funny,” Robb sighed. He kept his eyes closed, though his face grew pinched. “You wanna share bed wi’ me?”

“No, that’s all right,” Jon smiled.

Robb picked his head up, his eyes opening and focusing slowly. Jon waited while Robb spat in the toilet a few times. Then his cold blue eyes found Jon’s. “If you wanna sleep with Sans, okay, but if you hurt her . . . I’m gonto hav’a kill you.”

“Understood,” Jon said, trying very hard not to laugh. Robb gave him a thumbs up and went back to vomiting.

A soft touch on his shoulder stopped him from backing out. Sansa tilted her head, standing on her toes to look around him.

“He’s fine,” Jon muttered, pulling her out of the way and shutting the door fully.

“Does he have water?”

“Sink’s right there. What are you, anyway, the hydration fairy?” Jon guided her back towards his room, watching the way she limped and just about stumbled.

She laughed brightly. “I’ll add that to my list of titles. I’ll be Doctor Sansa Stark, professor of linguists at Oldtown University, chief editor of the Westerosi Season, hydration fairy.”

“You’re going back to school?”

She closed the door to his room behind them, “Not much you can do with just an English BA, you know.”

They returned to their spots on the rug, though Sansa sort of splayed out and leaned against his bed rather than sitting upright. Jon laid on his back.

“I’m drunk,” Sansa laughed. “That was a mistake.”

“I’m so good at mistakes that I’m contagious,” Jon laughed too.

“You are not,” Sansa kicked him lightly. “You’ve got your things in order. Better than I do, anyhow.”

“I’m better sorted than Sansa Stark?” Jon snorted. “World’s turned upside down.”

Very, very quietly, Sansa murmured, “I wish people would stop acting like I’m perfect.”

“You are.”

“I’m not,” Sansa said a little louder. “And it makes it harder to be not perfect when everyone just assumes you are. It’s just . . . It’s just worse.”

“Is that why you haven’t told your parents anything?”

Sansa kicked him again. “I don’t want to talk about my parents.”

“Your mum acts like you were taken prisoner.”

“She’s not all that far off,” Sansa sighed. “But I don’t want to talk about that.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Your hair,” Sansa said. Jon laughed because that was an absurd thing to say. “It’s _so_ pretty, Jon. Dark and curly and long. Every male lead in a YA novel would be green with jealousy.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“I’m serious, Jon,” Sansa pouted. She had very nice lips. Soft looking. He’d known she was pretty for a very long time, but with the makeup still on her face and the flush from the alcohol in her cheeks and the years they’d spent apart, she’d gotten alarmingly attractive.

And he was drunk, or just drunk enough, and the words were gone before he thought too much about them. “Seriously hot.”

And she said, “Did you ask Robb’s permission to screw me?”

“No,” Jon frowned. “I’d never. He brought it up of his own acorn. _Ahem_ , accord. His own accord.”

Meeting her eyes was dangerous. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. Drunk Jon was not nearly so repressed as Normal Jon. Drunk Jon entertained thoughts Normal Jon just wouldn’t.

“They say it’s hard to get over someone without moving on to someone new,” Sansa said softly.

“Who says that?” Jon frowned.

“It’s a thing.”

“Is not. Sounds like a thing Theon would yell between rejections at the pub.”

“Theon knows his way around a woman better than you do.”

“How exactly do you know that?” Jon asked sharply. Sansa scowled at him. “Or are you naive enough to believe that numbers count for skill. Notice none of his never stick around?”

“Whereas your none never even bother to appear?”

Jon sat up, gaping at her. “How dare you.” She shrugged with the sort of smile that made her and Arya look alike. “Well, now that you’ve pointed out the problem, what solution could you possibly offer?” Sansa lifted her foot and dropped it on his thigh, waggling her eyebrows. Jon burst into laughter and she giggled.

She leaned her head back against the bed and closed her eyes. “I’m drunk, Jon. I’m drunk, drunk, drunk.”

“Sansa, d’you think your drunk?”

“It’s _very_ likely,” she giggled again. Jon loved that he’d started to surround himself with giggly drunks. They were the best.

“You’re very pretty, Sansa,” Jon smiled. Sansa looked at him, eyes still predominantly closed.

“I know,” she said. Jon chuckled. “You’re pretty, too. I wanna braid your hair, Jon.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jon got to his feet carefully. He held out both hands to her. She looked up at him nervously.

“Why do I have to get up?”

“‘Cause I’m gonna put you in my bed,” Jon said plainly.

“What are you gonna do to me there?”

“Leave you to sleep. I’m good on the floor.”

Sansa frowned deeply. “That’s sad. Sleep with me.”

Jon cleared his throat, waggling his fingers. “C’mon, get up.” She took his hands and he helped her stand. He kept one hand in his and pulled back the sheets with the other. Sansa sat on the edge of his bed with that cute frown. “What?”

“We can share. I’m little and you’re short.”

“I’m not short,” Jon said grumpily. “You’re tall.”

“Please don’t sleep on the floor,” Sansa said softly.

Vowing to stay beside her until she was asleep and then creep away without disturbing her, Jon nodded. “Fine. I’ll turn off the light.” Sansa flopped over onto the other side of the bed. She burrowed under his covers, pulled them up to her chin. Jon pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and turned on the flashlight as he flicked off the light. He grabbed a pair of shorts from his dresser and quickly changed, throwing off his shirt. He didn’t bother replacing it. He probably should’ve.

He crawled into his bed, keeping to the edge. He listened to Sansa’s breathing, waiting for it to flatten out.

He passed out before she did.


	3. The Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Theon, upon discovery of Jon and Sansa, bring up ancient history

Sober Sansa found herself in quite the predicament. She remembered all of the night before, embarrassing attempts at seduction and all. She’d had no idea that any of it would happen the way it had. It was supposed to be a normal night out with her brother and his friends. Which wasn’t normal at all because he used to invite her jokingly and she only accepted out of spite. She always had a good time, always felt respected and liked and whatnot. Sometimes there had been fights, but _that_ hadn’t been a fight.

Sansa lifted her hand into the sunlight streaming through the window. She could still feel the way Jon had gripped her. No bruises. He’d been so very gentle, even when his other hand was colliding with another man’s face.

She was in bed with him, wearing his clothes. He’d taken off his shirt at some point. She wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened. She knew nothing had happened, not really, because she didn’t hurt anywhere. Except her foot, but that was to be expected.

He murmured softly behind her. Someone clanged about in the kitchen, and a doughy smell started to permeate Jon’s room.

He wasn’t wrapped around her how it always happened in the stories. His hand was on her back, wrist against her side, but his body was very much separated from hers. She lay on her stomach, face turned away from him. She hadn’t moved much since waking, not sure that she could stand to speak to him.

Sansa closed her eyes when footsteps approached Jon’s door. His hand pulled against her shoulder slightly, bringing them closer together. Sansa shifted closer still. He was warm and she felt like indulging herself. The best sort of feeling was when one had just woken up and it was warm and there wasn’t anywhere to go. She liked it even better with Jon in the bed beside her, even if she was scared of any impending awkwardness between them.

Jon’s door creaked open, letting in more light from the communal space. Sansa kept her eyes closed. The door shut rather loudly, and Jon jumped beside her, a sharp breath leaving him as he sat up. Sansa reached back for him, turning to sit up as well.

“Shit, Sansa,” Jon scrubbed at his face, ducking his head away from her. “Shit, sorry, I fell asleep.”

Sansa frowned, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“No- Well . . .” Jon sighed. Sansa waited for his explanation, since clearly there was one to be had. His bare chest was only mildly distracting; she caught her fingers a scant inch from touching him. “I was going to leave once you’d fallen asleep. Just grab a blanket and sleep on the floor out in the living room.”

“Oh, so you lied to me?” Sansa rolled out of the bed, pulling the hair tie from her wrist. There was an angry red mark from it. She threw her hair up in a bun, twisting it up and out of the way. She caught Jon staring when she glanced back at him, and he cleared his throat and slid out of bed himself. Sansa made an effort not to openly stare at his bare chest. Damn him and his idiot gym buddies and his stupid kickboxing.

“It wasn’t lying, I said . . . Something that gave me a loophole, I think,” Jon rubbed at his jaw. Sansa noted the dark shadow there. He’d been clean shaven for about a month, but it made him look like a baby, so evidently he was growing it out again. Sansa quite liked it. Not that her opinion mattered to him.

“Lawyers,” Sansa reached for the door, but Jon took her wrist before she could grab it. His body was in her way quite abruptly, and close at that. Sansa swallowed, looking down at him. Without her heels she was only an inch or two taller.

“I don’t remember doing anything I need to apologize for, but I’d prefer you confirm that before I accidentally lie to your brother,” Jon said lowly. His eyes were dark, mostly because they were always dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. He could make his voice dark too, one shade off where it was just then.

“You didn’t touch me, or insult me beyond forgiveness,” Sansa answered. She hoped she didn’t sound disappointed about the former. Drunk Sansa was still very much the fourteen year old with a crush on her older brother’s best friend. Sober Sansa knew better. Jon wasn’t interested in the mess she’d become. Still, she smiled, “You did promise to hang out with me, though.”

“Robb’s gonna love that,” Jon rolled his eyes. Sansa clicked her tongue.

“No, _you’re_ gonna love that,” Sansa grinned. Jon gave her a dour sort of look. “You will. I promise.”

“Oh, do you?”

Even though Jon’s eyes were so dark a grey as to be nearly black, they seemed brighter when he smiled. In the sun, Sansa noted a fleck or two of violet in them. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

The door opened, and Jon twisted them both out of the way by pinning Sansa against the wall beside it. His hands held her arms against the wall, and his body was warm and distracting where it met hers. Her lungs refused to fill with air. Though his reaction was alarmingly fast, Jon never looked away from her. Sansa’s breath caught as Robb stuck his head in. He blinked twice at the pair, then said, “Gilly made breakfast.”

He left the door open but wandered back to the common area.

“Robb,” Jon hurried after him. Sansa gave herself a moment. Her face burned, her hands started shaking.

She glared at her hands. That hadn’t started happening until a week before she decided to call Theon. She wasn’t expecting Jon to show up too, and they’d never told her what he’d done before getting her car. She’d almost thought he was hurt; he made it to the flat nearly fifteen minutes after she and Theon with bloody knuckles. She didn’t know what he’d hit, though she supposed it could’ve been a who. Her shaking hands were the only frequently visible remnant of her poor taste in men.

Nerves, she so often called it. Maybe it was something worse. Sansa didn’t care to find out yet another way she’d been broken.

Finally, she forced herself out of the unexpected shelter that had been Jon’s room. She hadn’t spent any real amount of time in there before.

“Far be it from me to interrupt your little moments,” Robb called loudly. She nearly ducked back into Jon’s room.

“Robb, it’s not like that-“

“Little lovebirds,” Theon crooned, rushing across the living room to hook an arm around Jon’s neck. Gilly squeaked as they stumbled through the kitchen. Sansa took a step forward, half a mind to shout for them to stop before they smushed the woman, but they narrowly avoided collision. “It’s finally happening!”

“Finally?!” Jon protested.

“It was you or me, and she wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“I’m sorry, did I miss some sort of grand plan?” Sansa demanded, hands dropping to her hips. Even Sam, half asleep at the little card table they must’ve set up out of the linen closet, looked toward her.

Jon groaned loudly, “The Pact.” Sansa rolled her eyes, burying her face in her hands.

“The Pact!” Robb and Theon howled.

“Beg pardon?” Sam said.

Since Jon had gone as red as humanly possible and Theon and Robb were giggling too much to say anything, Sansa had to answer. “They decided when they were eleven that one would marry me and the other Arya so they’d be actual brothers.” Sansa hadn’t really thought about it since, save once or twice when she felt she was a grown-up and Jon a man. But she would’ve been no older than fifteen. Sansa spoke through her covered face. “They gave up on Arya ten years ago. And I thought I made it quite clear that I didn’t want any part in any of it.”

“But you’re the lucky bride!” Theon cried through a fit of laughter.

“And you’ve got shit taste in men without our aid,” Robb added. Sansa peeked through her fingers at him. His smile looked real. She could always tell, because his eyes would crinkle and sparkle, and it was always a little lopsided. Not the perfect smile in all the staged photos of him, but the one that made heads turn on the street.

And for a second she couldn’t figure out why, before it struck her. He wanted her and Jon together. It probably seemed an easy fix to him. Jon’s most recent ex was dead. Sansa’s was a monster. And it was Robb who’d told her several weeks ago, very quietly and privately, that it took moving on to move on. Which, at the time, hadn’t made much sense.

Maybe, if she indulged him, he’d give her enough space from his nagging and worrying to actually give her room to heal, to grow.

She just had to get Jon on board with that idea.

“His clothes look good on you,” Theon winked, ruffling Jon’s hair. “Very boyfriend chic.”

Sansa let her hands fall away from her face, pushing at the hairs at her temples instead. She walked right up to where Theon and Robb had Jon pinned between them.

“Let him go,” Sansa said softly. “Or I’ll walk home and spray anyone who wants to follow with Mace. Anyone.”

“Effective range of ten feet,” Theon shrugged.

“That was a Christmas gift,” Robb acted scandalized.

Sansa closed her eyes and prayed to the gods. “First, Theon, it is _so_ creepy that you know that. Second, Robb, you gave it to me to keep men from harassing me. I’m feeling _very_ harassed.”

“Cinnamon rolls will be out of the oven soon,” Gilly touched her shoulder and slipped past to sit at the table with Sam. It was lucky she was a slight thing, and not even pregnancy had managed to change that.

“Thank you, Gilly,” Sansa smiled broadly. Then she turned on her brother and his friends. “You made her cook?!”

“I just got up,” Theon muttered. Jon finally managed to throw him off, his cheeks still red. Robb rested an elbow on Jon’s shoulder, looking down at Sansa with that real, genuine smile of his.

“Distracting me won’t work, little sister,” he said. “How does it feel to sleep with Big Brother’s best friend?”

Sansa was certain she was as red as Jon. “Honestly, I’m amazed you didn’t beat me to it. There’s still time. If you would bother listening to either of us, nothing’s happened yet.”

“ _Yet?_ ” Theon beamed. “Aw, Robb, they’re waiting for marriage like Ms. Catelyn would want-“

“Don’t you bring my mother into this,” Sansa scowled. Theon gave her the impish look that attracted whatever ladies he could get. She glanced at Robb, who looked well and truly pleased. She lowered her voice, “Make too big a deal out of this, and it’ll be over before it can start.”

Robb shrugged one shoulder. “All right.”

Jon’s shocked face threatened to ruin it all, so she shot him a Look before going to sit next to Gilly.


	4. The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa proposes something to Jon, who's somewhat less than thrilled.

“You want to _what?_ ” Jon hissed. Sansa shut the bedroom door closed behind them. Robb had offered Jon the keys so he could drive her home like a gentleman. He still wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Given that Arya was out, and Margaery was not, Sansa had dragged him straight into Arya’s room. Arya had so many knives, and Jon couldn’t think of a single reason why. He got the sense that Margaery was listening at the door, and tried to keep his voice down in spite of his sheer disbelief at Sansa’s proposal.

“Shhhh,” Sansa glared at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. She whispered again, “I want to pretend to date. For Robb and the others.”

“Why in seven Hells would I agree to _that?”_ Jon demanded. Sansa shushed him again. Her eyes turned pleading, and he turned away before they could get him in trouble. He didn’t know why the break in time had made him so susceptible to her every whim. All he knew was that she deserved a little less trouble in her life.

“Robb’s suffocating me. All the time, texting me and inviting me to things and ‘have you eaten today?’ He hasn’t had a date in longer than I have.” Sansa moved such that the bed squeaked. Jon kept his eyes on the door, watching in case Margaery moved past. Nothing moved at all. Sansa’s voice wavered slightly, and he couldn’t do anything but clench his fists. “I just need time right now, I’m not getting better running around making sure no one’s worried about me. I need space. And, apparently, this is the only way to get it.”

Jon closed his eyes, trying to keep focused. There was something of him at stake, too. It wasn’t just Sansa, he had to think of what it would do to him. He couldn’t give and give like he used to be able to, he just couldn’t. There wouldn’t be anything of himself left.

“Why me?” Jon asked lowly.

“What were they like the last time they found out I was dating someone? Or even interested?” Sansa laughed, though Jon suspected it was humorless. Jon squeezed his eyes further shut, trying to picture her sitting there, elegance and grace and really, really bad ideas. “I’m betting Robb was paranoid and Theon egging him on for violence. Robb trusts you.”

He clenched his fists tighter. She had not a single idea what went on when Robb found out about her men. Theon and Jon vowed to keep it that way. Jon, as an aspiring attorney, knew exactly what Robb faced if his temper was loosed on those bastards. He tried to keep his voice level. “Right, but I never did anything that might make him murderous, say, date you, hurt you-“

“It won’t be real,” Sansa said. Jon gave up on not looking at her and glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting that way again, her legs crossed, hands in her lap. The perfect five year old. Sometimes their two years difference felt tiny, but in this moment, Jon could only see the little girl who never liked him much, who claimed he was dirty and smelly, and (his worst offense) had cooties. Her voice came out mature, ladylike. “You don’t have to do anything. You said we should hang out. We’ll just do that, and then if Robb wants to butt in, start, I don’t know, threatening to tell him stuff he doesn’t want to hear.”

“Right but what happens when we have to go out again and he expects us to be making out in the corner,” Jon demanded. He highly doubted that was the best example and tried again. “I’m not pulling stunts to keep him appeased, I’m not faking things to throw him off. I won’t touch you knowing it’s not something you actually want.” He lost control of his breath, his chest heaving as his stomach turned. Sansa had been touched enough. He didn’t need to add anymore foul reminders of those bastards. Sansa frowned, her hands grasping at her knees for a moment before she folded them in her lap again. “Did you spare any thought to what this could do to you? To me?”

“I’ve thought things through better than you,” Sansa countered. “I don’t care to be touched in public, no matter who’s doing the touching. I’m not some thing to be flaunted. We’ll have rules. Really, I just want you to vouch for me. If I don’t text Robb, tell him I picked you up for lunch or something. I just need a buffer.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and finally faced her. It was a mistake, no doubt, but better than arguing with the door. “How much thought- How long have you been planning this? Is this what last night was about?”

Sansa’s face closed off to him bit by bit. Her facial expression dropped into neutrality starting with her mouth and ending with her eyes. He couldn’t tell how she’d done it, or why. He hadn’t even realized that it was a skill she possessed. “I got the idea when Robb couldn’t stop smiling.”

Jon didn’t believe her. Robb was glad to have another way to heckle them, no more. If he’d wanted Jon to try something with Sansa, he would’ve said something before he was drunk and throwing up in a toilet. Hells, he probably would’ve started with ‘do you fancy my sister?’ Not preceded directly to assuming things as though they were inevitable. Robb pulled a page from Arya’s book that morning: making something in his favor no matter what.

“We’re going to get caught and it’ll only make things worse,” Jon said. “All that happiness? It’s a lie, it’ll all be a lie.”

“You’re a good liar,” Sansa said. Her eyes went pleading again, too fast for him to avoid. “Jon, I promise, I’ll tell them I made you, I’ll take the fall, no matter the consequences. I just need a little time, a little space. That’s it. It’ll be over before anyone thinks twice.” Jon found himself nodding. Sansa reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing a few times. “Thank you.”

“How’s your foot?” Jon asked. Sansa held up the offending appendage, and he knelt to get a better look. He pulled off the tarnished bandage, wishing he hadn’t left his glasses at the flat. He was slightly farsighted, just enough to need glasses for the computer or reading. He’d heard every variation of old man joke because of it.

“Can you just put a bandaid on?”

“You have a bandaid that will stick to the bottom of your foot with no issue?” Jon asked skeptically. Sansa pouted at him. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Bathroom, second shelf over the toilet, left side,” Sansa answered. Jon stood and went to find it. She had a label on the red box, in addition to the big sticker the store had put on.

He thought he had escaped Arya’s roommate, but it was not so.

“Jon Snow, I wasn’t expecting you,” Margaery Tyrell leaned against the wall beside Arya’s room. “I thought Robb said he’d bring Sansa back.”

Margaery had a way of smirking that made Jon feel naked, like inappropriately naked and about to be tied down in bed. He lifted the first aid kit as a barrier between them. “Yeah. Yes. Except, uh, well.”

Margaery quirked an eyebrow; Jon almost checked to see if he was still wearing pants. “As enlightening as that was-“

The door to Arya’s room opened, and Sansa hobbled out. Jon took that as an opportunity to run, wrapping an arm around her waist. She refused to be tugged back, though, smiling at her best friend. “Margaery, hi.”

“You ran in before I could say hello,” she smiled back. “Not hungover?”

“No, just mildly injured,” Sansa leaned into Jon, gripping his shirt as she lifted her foot. Margaery flinched at the sight. It wasn’t all that big, about the width of Jon’s thumb in length, but he didn’t trust broken glass in a bar parking lot. Not a single bit. “Jon offered to carry me around last night.”

She looked at him as she lowered her foot. Jon knew then that agreeing to this was a bad idea. She was close and beautiful. He couldn’t think much beyond that, especially when she smiled lazily at him.

“I see,” Margaery smiled again. She glanced toward the room and winked. “I won’t tell Arya.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jon mumbled.

“He’s just taking care of me for a little bit,” Sansa said.

“There’s more than one way to take care of someone,” Margaery said. Jon knew he was wearing clothes and that she didn’t know what he looked like naked, but as she swept her eyes up and down him, he nearly forgot. Margaery retreated to her room, and Sansa pulled them into Arya’s.

“How in Seven Hells does Arya get along with her well enough to share a flat?” Jon shook his head, shutting the door. Sansa sat on the bed again and offered him her foot. He set the first aid kit next to her, and she opened it for him as he gently grabbed her foot.

“Margaery needed a roommate and Arya needed to get out of the house,” Sansa said. “If they haven’t killed each other yet, I don’t think it’ll happen.” Jon grunted in confirmation and Sansa laughed. He tried to focus on her foot. “You know, you really do sound like some sort of ape when you make that noise.”

“You’re such a brat,” Jon answered, holding her foot up to the light. “Scabs healing over nicely. I’m just gonna put something over it so it doesn’t break open.”

“Is that really necessary?” Sansa asked.

“Just trying to be a good boyfriend,” Jon muttered, catching her eye for a moment. Sansa blinked slowly, her cheeks going red. Jon enjoyed that maybe a little too much, stepping closer so he could reach the first aid kit. He put her foot over his shoulder and leaned down a little, grabbing for the gauze. He didn’t look at her, pulling back to wrap her foot. He repeated the motion when looking for the medical tape.

Grey eyes met blue, and Jon smirked. Sansa blushed about as red as her hair.

Jon finished up and set her foot down. “I’m going to head out before Arya comes back and murders me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Sansa said thickly. Jon raised one eyebrow. He’d never heard her voice like that before, and it didn’t help him fight the smirk still clinging to his lips. She coughed delicately. “Probably.”

“Good luck telling her you caved to the Pact,” Jon said. Sansa groaned, pushing to her feet. She grabbed Jon’s arm as he turned to leave.

“Stay until she gets back. She won’t believe me if she doesn’t see anything.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you in public,” Jon said, looking down at her hands around his arm. Jon thought that slight squeeze she gave and the look in her eyes after it made every second of working out worth it. He met her eyes, waiting for her to answer.

“Arya might not believe we were together if she caught me and you going at it on the couch,” Sansa said.

“Going at what?” Jon asked, just because he knew she wouldn’t answer. She went from red to crimson and said nothing. “I’m working out with Grenn and Edd by noon. Tell Arya, and if she doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t believe you.”

“Jon,” she pouted.

“You only get to use one of those a day,” Jon declared, stepping away. She just came with. “And you’ve already used it on the biggest favor in history.”

“Wait, Jon, I don’t have your phone number,” Sansa said, still clinging to his bicep. He clenched his fist for a heartbeat and she bit her lip. Jon sighed and dug into his pocket, finding his phone and unlocking it, holding it out to her. She released his arm, opened the phone app, and typed in her number.

When she hit call, so she’d have his too, neither of them heard it ring.

Sansa went white as a sheet, patting herself down, then twisting to look at the mattress. “Where’d I leave it?” Jon tried to remember the last time he’d seen it. “Jon, where’d I leave my phone?”

“Did you put the right number-“

“Hello?”

Sansa squeaked, thrusting the phone at Jon. He took it easily, “Hi, I’m guessing you’ve got a newer Blackwater phone with a purple case?”

“I do,” said the woman on the other side.

“Mind if I ask where you found it?”

“On the floor of my bar after either you or your dark-haired friend hit another patron of mine.”

Jon closed his eyes for a moment. “Right. Does he want to press charges?”

“No, but I‘ll be making a decision about whether or not your friends are allowed in my establishment once you come down to collect this here phone. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am. Miss. Uh, thank you, we’ll be by shortly.”

“See you then.”

The phone beeped at him, and he rounded on Sansa. “You left your _phone?!_ And didn’t notice?!”

“I was drunk!” Sansa cried shrilly, “And, if _you_ didn’t notice, I guess I’ve left my purse in the car or at your flat. I didn’t think about it!”

“It’s your _phone!”_

“I’m not used to having one yet, I wasn’t allowed one when I was with-“

She covered her mouth with her hands, taking a step back. A shudder wracked her body, and her eyes welled quickly with tears.

_Wasn’t allowed_.

Jon forced himself to go empty inside even as his fists clenched. He tried to keep the lingering darkness from his voice. “Sansa-“

_Wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t allowed_.

She shook her head, turning away from him. He exhaled slowly, trying to get all the anger out before he reached for her. He touched her shoulder and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her loosely.

“I’ll never let him touch you again,” Jon vowed lowly. “I don’t care if this whatever is fake, you’re my friend and I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa mumbled into his shirt. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He touched her hair gently, but she flinched. He lowered his hand immediately. Anger curdled in his bones again. _Wasn’t allowed_. “It’s all right. It’s okay.”


	5. Smart (Phones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa return to the scene of the crime.

The owner was bartending when they arrived back at the bar. There might have been two other customers in the whole place. She’d never seen the place so empty or heard it so quiet. Sansa marched forward ahead of Jon, seeing as it was _her_ phone. He made an exasperated sort of noise, but she paid him no mind.

She couldn’t believe she’d broken in front of him. She vowed not to let it happen again.

“You know, I miss being the only redhead worth starting a fight over in here,” the bartender smiled as Sansa sat down at the end of the bar. Sansa ducked her head.

“We just want the phone,” Jon said. He stood close behind her. Sansa could feel warmth radiate off him in waves. He was angry, she could tell, even if he hadn’t snapped at her or hurt her yet. He was pissed and doing too good of a job to hide it. She wondered if his anger had ever been noticed with Robb’s there to overshadow it.

“We didn’t mean for there to be trouble,” Sansa said. The owner leaned against the wood, bracing her hands near Sansa’s.

“That’s a good start,” she said. “I checked the footage, and all I saw was that older man get near you, then your boyfriend here punching his lights out. What’d I miss?”

Sansa bit down on the protest: he wasn’t her boyfriend. She’d need to get used to that from more important people than this fellow redhead.

“He grabbed her,” Jon growled. The owner raised an eyebrow. Jon touched Sansa’s shoulder, and she looked back at him. She was getting well acquainted with his anger, it seemed. She took his hand in hers, squeezing until he squeezed back. Her hand started shaking again, but she pretended not to notice, looking back at the owner.

“I appreciate a man willing to stand up for his girl,” the owner shook her head. “But next time, take it outside.”

“Next time?”

“I’ve been needing a reason to ban him for a while,” the owner sighed. “Creeps on my servers, always has groups of girls leaving as soon as he turns his back to them. No one ever says anything, but I notice. My partner won’t let me ban them until they do something. This certainly qualifies.”

“That sucks,” Sansa frowned.

“You still have the phone?” Jon asked. The owner went to get it from her office.

“Are you all right?” Sansa looked back at him again. He nodded stiffly. “If you need to step out, I can-“

“You’re helping,” he squeezed her hand gently once more. She offered a weak smile, leaning back until her head touched his chest. He took a deep breath against her.

The redheaded owner came back with a smile, holding up the phone. Sansa reached for it, but the owner held it out without letting go. “Unlock it for me?”

Sansa put her thumb on the little home button, and the phone unlocked. She had a lot of notifications.

“Buzzing all night,” the owner said. “Looks like you had a lot of people worried.”

Sansa handed her phone to Jon as she got up. “Thank you, again.” She offered her hand to the owner. “I’m Sansa, Sansa Stark. This is Jon Snow. It was nice meeting you; we really love the place.”

“Ros,” the owner shook her hand firmly. “We love having you. Keep punching creeps, Jon.”

He saluted her, “I promise to keep it outside.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ros grinned. Sansa waved as they left. Jon kept his grip on her other hand.

“Jon, I can drive-“

“Your wallet and license are in your purse at my place,” Jon reminded her. He held the door for her, and they both winced at the brightness of the sun. “I’ve got to tell Edd I’m going to be late.”

“The gym’s not far from your flat, I can walk there and wait for you,” Sansa proposed.

“And leave you with Robb and Theon?” Jon shook his head. “They won’t leave you alone.”

“Then I’ll describe in detail how I sucked you off or something-“

Jon made a choked sound, grinding to a stop and staring at her. “You can’t say ‘sex’ but you can-“

“I was making a point,” Sansa felt herself go pink. Jon shook his head, pulling her around to Robb’s car.

“Theon will make you do it just because it’ll make you more uncomfortable than him,” Jon advised.

“Right, but Robb won’t allow that,” Sansa mumbled. She paused, “Have they seen it?”

“Seen what?”

“Your . . . You know.”

“Sansa, what are you on about?”

“Have you . . . You know-“

“We’ve established that I _don’t,”_ Jon grumbled.

Sansa blurted, “Your dick, Jon. Have they seen it?”

Jon turned red to his ears. “I don’t see why that matters-“

“Well, if I’m going to tell horrifically graphic stories to make them piss off, I need to know if they actually know how . . . You know. Big. It is. Because if they know and I don’t they’ll catch wind really fast and then the jig is up and Robb will only go further to keep me under his thumb and-“

“Sansa.”

“I _can’t_ go back to living like that I’ll just combust or run my car into a tree or-“

_“Sansa!”_

Jon’s eyes were wide. Suddenly his hand was on her cheek, keeping her gaze on his. She forgot to breathe for a moment. “You shouldn’t think like that. You shouldn’t think wrapping yourself around a tree is a good solution. Do you understand that?” Sansa swallowed, nodded slowly. “Robb loves you. He will _never_ be that person holding you down. He’s trying to help you, honestly, truly. He’s not going to hurt you,” Jon whispered. “He’s trying to _help.”_

Sansa closed her eyes and willed herself to believe him. She wished she did. She wished she could. Jon let his hand fall away from her slowly.

“My penis is so big that they’d go mad if ever they saw it.”

Sansa burst into laughter, pulling away from him fully. He pushed her toward the car gently, and she stumbled over herself, laughing still. She didn’t stop laughing even when he opened the car door for her and closed it behind her. She was still laughing when he clambered in the driver’s side and started the car.

“You don’t believe me?” Jon asked as he pulled out onto the road.

“Listen, Jon,” Sansa giggled. “Confidence is attractive and all, but I think you’re exaggerating slightly.”

“Only slightly,” Jon winked at her. Sansa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked out the window, biting her lip to keep her mind from going places it shouldn’t. They were only having this conversation because Jon was a good friend, and that was it. “In all seriousness, Sansa, they haven’t seen anything since we were twelve or something. Which hardly counts.”

“Wait, you’ve actually-“

“I can neither confirm nor deny-“

“Oh, my gods, _Jon,”_ Sansa looked at him. He grinned as he drove, flashing teeth at her for a moment before returning his attention to the road. Sansa took a deep breath, glancing at the clock on the dash. “Call Edd.”

Jon cursed, “Right, thanks.” At the next red light, Jon shuffled awkwardly until he managed to get his phone out of his front pocket. He glanced at her, clearing his throat. “You, uh, never changed at Arya’s.”

“I know,” Sansa said, picking at the borrowed sweats. “I’m comfortable.”

“Here’s yours,” Jon mumbled. Sansa took her phone and stared at all the texts piling up.

Three from her mother. She vowed to call her when Jon went into the gym. One from her dad, simple as ever: _Your mother is worried about you_. Two from Robb, when he’d been drunk: _we’de on our way back sfoo eye dukxknf non jn the xar ol_. Then, _if you wanna duxk jon fo for it but uou gotaa kick things off cos hea a dagt bastard_. She frowned at both, trying to figure out what they meant. There was a missed call and a voicemail from Arya.

“ _Hey, Sans. I’m going to bed unless I hear from you in the next five minutes, I have to be up early tomorrow morning for training. ‘Kay, bye, love you_.”

“No, no, I’m still good, I just have to swing by my place . . . Edd, don’t be like that,” Jon sighed. “Edd. Yeah. . . . Tomorrow, yeah, I’ll be up. I promise. It’s not going to happen again. . . . Thanks, Edd. Say hello to Grenn for me. . . . Yeah, I heard you. Six in the morning. I’ll set an alarm. . . . Okay, bye. . . . Yeah. Bye.” Jon set his phone down on his thigh. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry-“

“It’s not your fault, stop apologizing for everything,” Jon said. Sansa swallowed and looked out the window again. Jon took a deep breath as they stopped at another light. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa said immediately.

“It’s _not_ fine,” Jon said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I call my mum real quick?” Sansa asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Jon answered quickly. “Do whatever you need to.”

Her mother picked up on the first ring. “Sansa! Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Sansa smiled a little. “I went out with Robb last night; I forgot my phone at the bar. Jon and I just went to get it.”

Jon made aggressive ‘no’ signals as he pulled through the light.

“Jon? It’s Sunday, couldn’t Robb have taken you?”

“You know Robb,” Sansa smiled. “And Jon’s been very sweet today.” Jon groaned loudly, smacking his head back against the headrest. Sansa bit back a laugh. “How have you been, Mum?”

They talked until Jon pulled into the parking space at the base of his building. Sansa promised to visit soon and wished love on her little brothers. Her mother reminded her to call again when she had more time.

“Why are you scared of my mother?” Sansa asked as she stepped out of the car. Jon groaned again.

“She’s very . . . intense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I get the feeling that I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Jon locked the car, and it beeped back at him. Sansa walked close enough to him that their shoulders bumped occasionally. “I don’t think she likes it when I talk to Bran or Rickon.”

“They love you,” Sansa said. “She’s just upset that she sees _you_ more than me or Arya.”

“You ever try to tell Robb no when he’s being a good human being about something?” Jon asked. Sansa bumped him a little harder. “Right. Sorry.”

Luckily, Theon was shut up in his room, and Robb passed out on the couch with the TV on. Jon found her purse in the kitchen, passing it over. Sansa texted Robb a photo of himself on the couch, his mouth open and arms folded neatly over his chest.

“Guess I’m not working out today,” Jon said softly. “There anything you need to do before I take you home?”

Sansa shook her head, not bothering to tell him that she didn’t currently have a home. Sharing a bed with Arya wasn’t the best. Arya never complained, but Sansa knew her constant waking was disturbing to her.

It wasn’t that Sansa didn’t want her own place. She was just fighting with the credit card companies over her filthy ex’s misuse of her cards, misuse that happened without her knowledge. She’d been working close to fifty hours a week in a little hourly accounting office that gave her good overtime since. She’d always been good at balancing her books, and she was on track to pay it all back in six months. She didn’t want, need, or expect help from anyone else for it. In a month her credit score was supposed to be good enough that she could at least look for an apartment without getting shot down instantly.

“Sansa?” Jon said softly. Robb snored quietly. Sansa tried to shake herself loose.

“I’m ready for a nap,” she laughed at herself, pushing at her temples. “Isn’t that funny? Barely been awake for three hours and I’m tired again.”

Jon turned away from her, pulling at different drawers until he found a notepad and a pen. He scribbled something down, tore off the piece of paper, and held it out. Sansa squinted at him. “You need to talk to someone. Someone . . . qualified.”

Sansa stepped back. “I’m fine-“

“Sansa, I know what you’re going through,” Jon said. “It helps. Trust me.”

Sansa took the paper with a sigh. “One day with me and you think I’m mental-“

“I think you’re hurting,” Jon said hastily. Sansa met his eyes. “I think you’re hurting a lot more than you let anyone else see.” Jon could look so soft sometimes. “And you don’t know what to do with all that hurt.”

Sansa nodded, folding up the paper and putting it in her purse. “Thank you.”

“I’ve gotta put a load of laundry in downstairs if you want to take a nap in my bed,” Jon suggested, throwing the notebook and pen back in the drawer.

“You don’t have to-“

“It’s not like you haven’t slept there before,” Jon’s eyes sparked as he smiled. Sansa bit her lip but nodded.

Her phone buzzed. She opened the Snapchat notification and whipped around toward the couch.

Robb was fully sat up, grinning behind a hand. Sansa charged forward.

“Were you spying on me?!”

“I just woke up, I swear,” Robb explained. “He writing you love notes now?”

Sansa pulled a pillow from underneath him and smacked him over the head a few times. “You- in-con-sider-ate- son- of-!”

“All right, Sansa, take it easy on him,” Jon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back. She squirmed a little and he picked her up fully.

“Jon!”

He set her down beside the door to his room. Then he rounded on Robb. “You’re dead.”

Robb shot to his feet. “Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, you smug bastard,” Jon stepped forward.

“Nap first, fight later,” Sansa said, grabbing Jon by the back of his shirt.

“Do I need to put headphones on?” Robb called, actual fear leaking in amongst his mirth. Sansa looked at him over her shoulder.

“Better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it?”

“Sansa,” Jon sighed. “I’m doing a load of laundry, Robb, you’re fine.”

Jon laid a hand on the small of Sansa’s back, guiding her into his room. She flung herself on the bed while he closed the door.

“You don’t have to antagonize him on top of everything else,” Jon said. “I’m the one who has to follow through on your threats now.”

“That’s really not necessary, Jon,” Sansa wiggled her way across his bed onto the side she’d slept on before. “Robb is _very_ used to empty threats from me.”

“Well, he’s going to get unused to it,” Jon said. Sansa turned her head to watch him as he pulled a hamper from his closet. He bent down and grabbed a few stray articles from the floor.

“For how reluctant you were about this whole thing, you’re taking it rather seriously,” Sansa said quietly. He had a good bum. Probably from all his working out. She could still feel the strength in his arm under her fingers. Jon looked back at her, and Sansa forced her eyes to his face.

“Sansa,” he straightened. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m on your side, fake relationship or not. You deserve to have someone on _your_ side.”

Sansa nodded slightly. “Thank you.”

He smiled a little and went back to his laundry.

She was asleep before he came back up.


	6. Coffee and Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon explains his job over coffee, but after work, Sansa has plans with her sister and a ~*~mysterious man~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Jon explains some lawyer shit in this, which is primarily based on the United States criminal justice system (i.e. very fucked). That's what I know. I know it's different overseas, and that Westeros is technically Great Britain, but I don't have any experience with that system and didn't want to seem like I was talking out of my ass.
> 
> Also, some of y'all were asking for Arya?

The next week went by quickly. They were both surprised to find Sansa’s accounting firm not far from Jon’s law office. When noon came around, Sansa took her half hour break, went down to the street to find Jon waiting, glasses on, hair up. They went to a little coffee shop that sold bagel-based sandwiches, then walked back to Sansa’s work.

Sansa liked hearing about Jon’s work. Obviously certain things could not be disclosed, but older cases where everything was already, as Jon said, on the record tended to be more entertaining regardless. Jon was an aid of some sort to one of the attorneys who specialized in criminal law, which meant he represented defendants.

“But . . . What if they did do it, and they get off and go do it again?” Sansa asked that Friday. She sipped at her white chocolate mocha and waited for Jon to answer. “Dad always said the good defense attorneys get people off for things they actually _did._ I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Spoken like a prosecutor’s daughter,” Jon said. She scowled at him. “I know, and it’s something I already . . . struggle with. Some cases more than others. Is it any worse to ruin someone’s life over something they never did? Better than abandoning personal morals at the door to enforce laws that affect marginalized peoples more harshly?”

“See, this is why I never paid attention to Dad growing up,” Sansa rolled her eyes, wrinkling her nose. “Too much philosophy.”

Jon chuckled a little, picking at his sandwich. His foot bumped hers under the table but immediately withdrew. Sansa swallowed and glanced away, looking across the little shop.

“Prosecutors really only want sure cases,” Jon said quietly. “The presumption is that defendants are innocent, but that doesn’t do any good for a prosecutor’s conviction record. A lot of the time we just end up negotiating a deal.”

“A deal?”

“You know, lesser sentencing, giving up other people, that sort of thing,” Jon said. “The big cases, like murders and what-not? When those go to trial, it’s still not all that exciting. Mostly we just argue about not guilty via insanity or self-defense.”

“How do you prove something like self-defense?” Sansa asked. Jon held up a hand and reached for his coffee, taking a long sip.

“It’s really difficult sometimes,” Jon answered. “You have to prove that the defendant reasonably feared that their life was in danger. Things like the reasonable belief that the victim had a gun or weapon, that they meant to do the defendant harm. Honestly, most cases that go to trial come down to the jury. A jury that identifies with the defendant is more likely to believe their reasoning; if they identify more with the victim it’s a different story. Most cases are won or lost before the trial starts.”

“You ever get to yell objection like on the TV?” Sansa asked.

“Well, I’m not allowed to yet,” Jon glared at his almost finished sandwich. Sansa reached across the table and grabbed a loose wedge of avocado from it. “Still, it really doesn’t happen like that. That whole, ‘objection’ then immediately ‘sustained’ thing. The biggest problem is that judges often don’t know the rules of evidence. I was assisting a trial once where my boss had hearsay let in against him under the _feelings_ exception.”

Jon said it so ludicrously that Sansa had to smile. She’d heard her father mutter to her mother about trials going this way or that way all her life but hadn’t ever bothered to pay much attention to it. Listening to Jon talk about it was different. “I’m guessing that’s not a real thing.”

“It’s the rules of evidence, not the rules of emotion,” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I think he was trying to go for the perception exception, except that’s for speculation, not hearsay and he was a mile off on that too.”

“You’re losing me,” Sansa sang. Jon took a large bite from his sandwich. She sipped from her coffee again. “I get nervous sometimes when I get the maths wrong at work. We do accounting for some bigger firms sometimes, and . . . I don’t know. Sometimes I feel as though I’m about to be swept up into a movie, with spies and governments at war. But then I just forgot to carry a two or something and it all works out.”

“I still can’t believe you do that by hand,” Jon shook his head. “Can’t believe you do math by choice at all.”

“When I’m bored,” Sansa shrugged. “I need the money right now.”

Number were always numbers, would always be numbers. They didn’t change without reason. They told their own stories in a way, growing and shrinking. Numbers were safe. Numbers meant she didn’t have to talk to her coworkers any more than she wanted to. Numbers meant she could do her part and didn’t have to pick up anyone else’s slack. Numbers were neutral, numbing. She could survive any amount of numbers if it kept her safe long enough to get around to doing anything she wanted to do with her life.

Jon nodded, finishing off his sandwich. “You could ask your parents for help. Your dad would co-sign a lease with you. Your mum would help you pay rent.”

“I don’t need anyone to help me out of the mess I’ve made,” Sansa straightened her spine. She felt her face go neutral and didn’t bother reaching for her coffee again. She folded her shaking hands on the table in front of her.

“Sansa, you _did_ need help,” Jon said softly. She looked across the shop, staring at the door. “You called Theon. I was there, Sansa. It’s not bad to want to do things on your own, but remember what your dad is always saying?”

“Jon,” she sighed.

“The pack survives,” Jon said lowly. “I don’t care how stupid it sounds: he’s right.”

“It’s my fault-“

“No, it’s not,” Jon growled. Sansa clenched her jaw. Jon touched her hand. “It’s _not.”_

Jon said things like this so often that she, in spite of her better judgement, was starting to believe him. She glanced down at her phone, seeing a notification from Robb.

_You doing anything other than working today?_

“Can I send a picture to Robb?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Only if you say it,” Jon grumbled.

Sansa let out a soft breath. “The behavior of my shitty exes is not my fault.”

“Go for it,” Jon said. He kept his hand on hers, smiling. It didn’t look all that fake. She watched her phone screen, making sure the camera focused. She ducked her head and sent it to Robb with the caption _this fool_. Robb answered with a few vomiting emojis. Sansa sent him two middle fingers in answer. “What’d he say?”

“I don’t think he’ll be wanting to hang out with us,” Sansa hummed, handing him her phone.

“Shit, is that the time?” Jon traded her phone for her plate, stacking it with his and grabbing the couple of napkins they’d used.

Sansa locked her phone and tucked it away in her purse. She grabbed both their coffees as Jon took care of their dishes. He offered his arm as they hit the street, taking his coffee with his other hand. She looped her arm through his.

They’d started that mostly because they’d run across Theon’s sister a few times. She usually lunched with a couple of ladies just down the street. It also made it harder for the steady foot traffic to separate them. And Sansa liked it. It made her feel like an old movie star.

Yara waved as she walked by, and Sansa smiled. Jon’s phone buzzed twice, and Sansa held his coffee as he dug through his pockets looking for it.

“I’m meeting Edd and Grenn after work,” Jon said softly. “Sparring today.”

Which meant he’d be covered in bruises when she next saw him.

“I was going to stay late anyhow,” Sansa shrugged.

“Not too late,” Jon tucked his phone away and reclaimed his coffee.

“I won’t be there past six,” Sansa promised. “Arya’s taking me to dinner. Says she wants me to meet someone.”

“Arya’s dating someone?” Jon frowned.

“No, I got the feeling more that she wanted me to date him.” Jon growled, and Sansa relented. “I’m kidding, Jon.”

“You’ve told her _twice_ about us.”

“Yeah, and you’ve not said a _word_ to her.”

“I haven’t run into her yet.”

“You have her phone number, don’t you?”

Jon grunted. Sansa grunted back. “Stop that.”

“Use your words.”

“You _know_ I have her number,” Jon countered.

“Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to,” Sansa chimed, recounting what was, apparently, the first rule of trial.

“I hate it when you pay attention to what I say,” Jon muttered. He was smiling when Sansa looked at him, though. She grinned back.

He left her at her office without much more than a wave and a glance over his shoulder.

It went quickly but work always went quickly for her. It was always different but routine enough that time flew. The same calculations, different numbers. People always thought that she was crazy: an English major who didn’t hate math. She had a minor in classical studies _and_ a minor in accounting. It would’ve made her ‘marketable’ had she gone through with her mother’s wish that she become a high school teacher. But Sansa didn’t like teenagers, didn’t like the reminder of what a stupid little girl she’d been. She wanted to be an editor, on top of the publishing world, and then teach at Oldtown University. No one could deny her intelligence then. No one would care that she loved romance novels or fairy tales or a textbook hero’s journey.

Arya called her at quarter ‘til six. “I’m downstairs. Let’s go.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sansa sighed. She finished up her last account with her phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. “Where are we going?”

“We’re walking to Hot Pie’s.”

“Pizza?” Sansa looked down at herself while her computer shut down. “I’m wearing something nice, Arya.”

“You don’t have to get pizza,” Sansa could all but hear her sister’s eyes roll. “Besides, they’ve got that white sauce one with the chicken.”

“The alfredo?” Sansa grabbed her purse and blazer, throwing it on hastily. She waited until the last light blinked out on her computer and headed for the elevator. Jon had warned her that stairwells were far more dangerous than elevators, that elevators had a little camera in them in any case. Sansa figured she’d supplement her meager workout attempts some other way.

“Uh, yeah, sure. C’mon, we’re waiting on you,” Arya huffed impatiently. 

“I’ll walk slower than a glacier if you don’t start giving me hints as to who this ‘we’ is exactly,” Sansa threatened, jabbing the down button a few times. The elevator beeped serenely.

“You’ll meet him when you get downstairs.”

Sansa could’ve sworn she heard a man’s voice mumble, “Arya, what’d you tell her about me?”

“Nothing,” Arya answered much clearer. “Hurry up, Sans.”

“I’m going to lose you in the elevator. See you soon,” Sansa said quickly.

“Hurry,” Arya said. Sansa hung up, putting her phone in her purse. She figured if she kept her phone in her purse and her purse on her person, she couldn’t lose either. Since Sunday, it hadn’t failed her.

There was a tall man with a nearly shaved head standing next to her sister. His hair was almost as dark as Jon’s, and he had lighter grey eyes as well. He looked massive next to Arya, but most people did, so Sansa was slightly surprised to find herself still looking up at him when she reached them.

“Hi, I’m Sansa,” she held out her hand. His completely enveloped hers, and he shook strongly.

“Gendry Waters,” he said.

“You’re from King’s Landing,” Sansa said. She straightened her blazer upon being released. “Flea Bottom?”

“The accent doesn’t stand out up here as much as I thought it would,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at Arya. She smiled, far from a reassuring sight, though Gendry seemed to relax.

“Let’s go.”

The food was good, and the conversation never lulled too much. Gendry went to the bathroom as they were finishing up, and Arya looked at Sansa expectantly.

“What?”

“What do you think of him?” Arya demanded.

“He makes you look tiny,” Sansa said, hiding a smile as she wiped at her mouth with a napkin.

“He’s really strong,” Arya smirked. “He’s wearing a jacket but his biceps?”

“Where did you find him?” Sansa asked.

“I was training,” Arya shrugged. She was an aspiring cage fighter of some sort. Sansa was pretty sure she’d changed what style or championship or something or other every year or two. Said it got boring when she kept winning. Sansa thought it a miracle the government hadn’t abducted her into some kind of secret program. “He works for the gym’s new outfitter.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, the Brotherhood,” Arya snorted. “Bunch of old shits with big ideas.”

“I think you could probably take them,” Sansa smiled. Arya offered a feral grin in answer.

“Especially now that I’ve got their muscle on my side,” Arya whispered. Sansa laughed.

“I’m happy for you. Jon was worried that you were going to- were trying to set me up with someone,” Sansa leaned back in her seat and reached for her wine. She checked her phone when Arya didn’t give an immediate response. She hadn’t glanced at it since leaving work.

_Still at dinner?_ from Jon. She answered in the affirmative.

_You still at work or have you eaten?_ from Robb, which prompted an eye roll.

“What now?” Arya asked as Gendry returned. Sansa handed over her phone. “Gods, you’d think he’s Mum.”

“He texts more, actually, because he knows what happened,” Sansa said. She fidgeted in her seat while Arya scrolled upward quickly. Gendry elbowed her. She twisted the phone back so Sansa could see. The photo of Jon smiling and holding her hand on the table showed.

“This is cute,” Arya said lowly. “How much are you paying him to keep Robb off your back?”

“Arya!” Sansa protested.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Arya insisted. Sansa scowled and took her phone back.

“I think I’m a little lost,” Gendry said.

“My boyfriend-“

“Our older brother’s best friend is suddenly dating her just as Robb’s getting more and more overprotective,” Arya said. “Bit convenient, huh?”

“We all went out and got drunk last Saturday and the two of us ended up . . . You know,” Sansa trailed off, sure she’d gone pink. She let her phone distract her, answering Robb’s text as another came in from Jon.

_Want me to stop by? If Arya really doesn’t believe you that is._

Sansa glanced at her little sister, biting her lip. _It’s okay. We’ll get her eventually._

Robb responded to her, _Wine and whiskey at our place. Bring Arya._

“Uh, I told Robb we were out, but I didn’t mention Gendry,” Sansa frowned at her phone, then glanced at Arya. “He’s offering wine and whiskey at the flat.”

Arya glanced at Gendry, and Sansa noted a slight panic in her face as she did. Gendry shrugged, “If you’re okay with me meeting your family, I don’t mind. Not much else to do tonight. My roommate’s having people over.”

Arya shot Sansa the Look that meant she was not allowed in the girls’ flat that night. Sansa nodded. Arya looked at Gendry again. “Are you sure? It won’t just be Robb, it’ll be Jon and Theon too, and together they’re-“

“A menace,” Sansa finished. “Just two of them can be too much, honestly.”

“It’ll be fine,” Gendry shrugged. “I think I can take them.”

Indeed, Gendry was built like a bull. It might take all three of them to bring him down. If he was trained like Arya was, it might be too much.

A quiet part of her insisted that Jon could handle him easily, but Sansa ignored that. It wasn’t exactly a logical part of her.

They took Sansa’s car over. Arya seemed to vibrate in the front seat beside her while Gendry watched the city go by in the back.

“It’ll be all right,” Sansa said softly.

“You’ve never brought a boy back to them before,” Arya hissed. “You don’t know.”

“Robb seems to be okay with Jon.”

“Right, because that’s _Jon_ and he probably knows it’s not real regardless,” Arya answered easily.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” Sansa asked lowly.

“There’s nothing to be happy for.”

“You’re in denial,” Sansa said tightly. She indicated and turned right into the apartment complex. She parked between Theon and Robb’s cars.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Arya said.

Sansa called Jon as Gendry clambered out of the car. She could practically see Jon scrambling to find the right pocket as it rang. He picked up just before it would’ve gone to voicemail. “You guys on your way?”

“We’re here,” Sansa answered. “You want to come down to buzz us in or send someone else?”

“I’ll come down, I just need shoes,” Jon said.

“All right, we’ll wait,” Sansa said. She pursed her lips as he grunted on the other end. There was something like a thud and she bit her tongue.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he finally ground out.

“Did you fall trying to put your shoes on?” Sansa asked, unable to contain her grin.

“Maybe,” Jon grumbled.

“Must’ve been moving pretty fast. You excited to see me or something?” Sansa asked.

“No,” Jon said, but it was his best impression of a stubborn we-know-we’re-wrong Stark ‘no.’ Sansa laughed lightly. “Brat.”

“Bastard,” Sansa answered.

“Is that Jon?” Arya asked. Sansa nodded, and Arya grabbed her and pulled her down so she could get nearer to the phone. “How much is she paying you?!”

“Arya!” Sansa tried to shove her off, but her little sister was persistent.

“I’ll pay you double to tell me!”

“All right,” Gendry hauled Arya back. “And to think I was worried about what they’d think of me.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Sansa stuck her tongue out at Arya. “You can’t possibly be stranger than she is.”

Arya hissed like a cat.

“Wait, who else is with you?” Jon asked.

“Arya’s boyfriend,” Sansa supplied easily.

“Her _what?!”_

“Sansa! Don’t rat me out like that!”

“He’s had his hand on your ass too much for him to pass as a friend,” Sansa covered the phone with one hand and scowled at her sister. “As soon as you get a touch of wine in you, you’ll be singing his praises and you don’t want Robb to find out when he’s drunk. He’ll want to duel or something ridiculous.”

The door to the lobby opened before Arya could answer, and Sansa hurried over, hanging up the phone. Jon’s gaze shot past her to Gendry. She stopped just inside, out of the way so Arya and Gendry could enter. Gendry introduced himself, earning a grunt from Jon.

Sansa, out of habit, grunted back.

Jon looked at her as she blushed, eyes bright. He let the door close and slipped his arm into hers, stretching to kiss her cheek gently. Sansa dropped her head to his shoulder, feeling as though she’d combust.

“It was cute,” he said quietly.

“You’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Did you really expect anything else?”

She pinched his side, and he jumped halfway to the moon. “Sorry! I forgot you sparred today.”

“I’m fine,” Jon said stiffly, heading for the elevator. He pressed his fob on the reader and Sansa hit the up button.

“I thought you normally won handily,” Sansa said slyly.

“I do,” Jon slid his hand around her waist as Gendry watched. She bit her lip but didn’t shove him away. It felt . . . nice. To be held, when Jon did the holding. “Doesn’t mean Grenn didn’t get a lucky shot in now and then.”

“Do you need me to kiss it better?” Sansa gave an exaggerated pout. Arya pretended to gag until the elevator dinged and opened.

“Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would've updated this a half hour ago if the puppy hadn't decided that my fingers are very tasty and the keyboard is fun to step on while I'm editing.


	7. Induction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Jon comes out and he isn't sure he's on board with Sober Jon's whole *plan thing*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short, I might update again later tonight based on if I edit the next chapter to my satisfaction

Jon liked Gendry. When Robb and Theon started yelling about shots, he kept up. Arya and Sansa didn’t. This, obviously, meant Gendry and Jon had to take theirs, too. Arya was limited to a glass or two of dry red by her training diet, even if it was her cheat day. Sansa joined her in solidarity, though Jon noticed her longing glances to the bottle of sweet white he’d gotten on his way home from work. His hunch had been correct then. A surprising amount of pride curled through him.

He was three shots (and two Sansa shots) in when they moved from standing around the kitchen to sitting around the living room. Jon claimed a perch on the armrest of the couch, and Sansa sat next to him, handing her wine glass to him as she sat so as not to spill. He took a sip or two, earning a swat against his thigh. He grinned and passed it back.

Arya sat on the floor at Sansa’s feet, and Robb claimed the other side of the couch. Gendry and Theon sat against the wall under the mounted TV.

“King’s Landing still a festering shit pile?” Robb asked. Sansa swatted him, too.

“Shut up, Robb, you’ve never even been!”

As they talked, Sansa and Jon slowly drifted into one another’s space. Jon thought alcohol very dangerous for them, but still he couldn’t help it when his hand found itself in her hair. Arya got the white wine for Sansa, and then her head was in Jon’s lap. Jon sipped from it as well.

Robb managed to coerce Gendry into singing a Northern drinking song with them. All the men got up and started jumping around when Arya found a fiddle version on the internet. She and Sansa sang raucously while the four of them skipped around and shouted what lyrics they could, hooking arms with each other and trying to spin the weaker into a wall. Gendry sent Robb sailing, which called for another round of shots. Sansa took her own.

Jon flopped onto the couch. Robb flopped on top of him, causing Jon to laugh wheezily. Theon flopped on top of them both, but he fell and dragged Robb with. Sansa laughed the whole way through.

Her hands pulled his hair out of its bun, then dragged through his hair. Jon liked it, turning his head to look at her.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she whispered, working her fingers through a knot in his hair.

“All right, it’s time we left,” Arya sighed. Jon smiled at her from Sansa’s lap.

“Bye, Arya.”

“Bye, dipshit,” she smirked, ruffling his hair. He grinned. “She’s staying here tonight.”

“Thank you for lending me your sister,” Jon said. Sansa’s hands moved through his hair to undo Arya’s ruffling.

“I expect her in the same condition as when you received her,” Arya said. Jon nodded against Sansa’s thighs. She flicked his nose. “Robb, Jon’s the drunkest, make sure he gets taken care of.”

“I’m not the drunkest. _You’re_ the drunkest.”

“Arya hasn’t been drinking for the past hour,” Sansa said softly. Jon twisted to look at her. She was really, really pretty.

“Bye, Arya,” Robb chuckled.

“You took care of me,” Sansa said. Jon nodded, for he remembered doing that. “So, I’ll take care of you.”

“Okay,” he said. Sansa smiled. “You’re pretty.”

“So, you’ve said,” Sansa said. She started going red, and that same pride rose in him.

“I like when I can make you blush,” Jon said.

“You’re very good at it,” Sansa laughed.

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” Jon hummed. Robb laughed, and Jon noticed the phone pointed his way. He pointed in answer. “Robb!”

“What?”

“I’m gonna marry your sister!”

“The Pact!” Theon shouted.

“The Pact!” Jon and Robb answered.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Sansa said, pushing Jon’s shoulders lightly. He sat up quickly, then scooted back into her spot.

Jon’s phone buzzed, but it was just from Robb. He scowled at his friend and put his phone back in his pocket. Sansa came back with a glass of water.

“Sit down,” he patted the couch beside him.

“Finish it first,” Sansa ordered. Jon pouted but did as she said. She took the glass back to the kitchen and came back with it full.

“This is a trick,” Jon said, drinking again. She took it from him and finished it, then set the glass on the floor. Instead of sitting next to him, she sat in his lap. Jon grinned at that, wrapping his arms around her.

“We’re full of bad ideas tonight,” Sansa murmured.

“Oh, the worst ideas,” Jon agreed.

“I’m going to bed before I throw up,” Robb declared. “Good luck.”

“Why do I need good luck?” Jon asked, unable to look away from Sansa. Thus, the attack on the back of his head came from seemingly nowhere.

“Sansa needs luck dealing with your drunk ass, Snow.”

“Sansa’s very lucky,” Jon said. She was pink again. His favorite.

“Have fun, kids,” Theon sang. Jon watched Sansa.

“When they’re done taking turns in the bathroom, you should go get ready for bed,” Sansa said.

“Will you help me?” Jon asked quietly. “I’m drunk.”

“You reckon?” Sansa smiled. “You told Robb you were going to marry me.”

“I have to,” Jon mumbled. “The Pact.”

“Jon, even if we were _actually_ together, I wouldn’t want you to marry me just because of some stupid pact,” Sansa said.

“Do you think we could be actually together?” Jon asked. Sansa frowned. “I don’t hate you. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk, Jon, and I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if we really dated.”

“That’s heartening,” Sansa shook her head. “I love hearing that I’m not the worst thing to ever happen to you.”

Jon frowned. Had he fucked up already? No wonder sober Jon never said anything. “Sansa, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” she looked sad. “You’re drunk, I shouldn’t pay you any mind anyhow.”

“When did I get so drunk?” Jon asked. Sansa smiled again, but she was crying. Jon reached for the tear, pushing it away with his thumb. “I won’t get drunk again if you’re sad. I promise I won’t. It’s not worth it.”

“Jon,” Sansa grabbed his hand. He squeezed twice. She squeezed back.

“Come here,” Jon tugged her gently, and she fell into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her different, holding her close. He closed his eyes. “I fuck up everything I touch, Sansa.”

“It’s a good thing I’m already fucked up as it is.”


	8. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries not to bother Sansa any more than he already has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little dude. Might *actually* upload the next part tonight

The second time Jon Snow woke with Sansa Stark in his bed was about as big a surprise as the first. She lay on his chest this time, hands clenching his shirt. Her head lay over his heart, and he had only a vague memory of how they came to be like that. His arms rested around her, and she looked tiny.

She lifted her head and met his eyes. “Morning.”

“Last night- Sansa, I’m _so_ sorry-“

“I don’t really care,” Sansa dropped her head back to his chest. She took a deep breath, and he copied her. “I haven’t slept that well in days.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have said-“

“Jon,” Sansa lifted her head again. He swallowed under her crystal blue gaze. “I don’t care.”

“You cared last night.”

Sansa’s jaw tensed, and her eyes narrowed. “Why are you so determined to apologize?”

Jon wondered for a moment if she was daft. “Sansa, I made you _cry_. What kind of asshole does that make me if I _don’t_ apologize?”

Sansa frowned. She ducked back to his chest without answering.

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Jon said again. She loosened her grip on his shirt.

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Jon said, playing with her copper hair idly. It was darker than Ygritte’s. And Ygritte had never allowed him to play with her hair.

“What about Robb and Theon?”

“We don’t have to invite them,” Jon scoffed. “We’re dating, remember?”

Sansa hummed, which admittedly felt a little weird against his chest. After a moment, Sansa whispered, “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

“Of course,” Jon said, running a hand through her hair again.

He fell asleep. Robb woke them up knocking on his door. “You decent in here?”

“Fuck off,” Jon answered blearily.

“Guessing not then,” Robb left. Sansa shifted over Jon, and he became aware of a rather large problem.

Jon glanced down at Sansa, but she seemed to be asleep. There was no evidence of tenting if one simply looked at the general area over his comforter. Jon closed his eyes and thought about all the stupid horror movies he’d ever seen. He thought about bugs and moths and-

Sansa sighed in her sleep, her leg rubbing against his. Jon pulled at her hair gently.

Nope, no, no, no. Bugs. Bug eggs. Little ants and-

“Mm, Jon,” Sansa murmured, her hands fisting in his shirt again. Jon tried just breathing.

Sansa turned her head toward him, her eyes opening slowly. She smiled a little, “You’re comfy, Jon.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smiled back. She laughed and nestled closer, her leg fitting between his. Jon cleared his throat, “Sansa, I—uh—I need to. You know. Go to the bathroom.” Sansa groaned but rolled off him. “Sorry, thanks.”

He waddled across the apartment, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “Why are you an idiot, Snow? Quit fucking things up.”

Jon splashed water in his face and glared at himself in the mirror. “Don’t you fucking start that shit again. I swear on the Stranger, that shit is _not_ happening.”

He found that he did actually need to piss, so did that and washed his hands (splashing more cold water on his face) before leaving the bathroom. Robb ate cereal on the couch and raised his eyebrows as Jon paused just outside the doorway. He cursed himself for not giving so much as a cursory glance towards the kitchen earlier.

“Morning,” Robb said. Jon scowled, wiping at his face as water dripped from his beard onto his chest. “Long night?”

“Longer than you want to hear about,” Jon sighed.

“You might be surprised,” Robb tried. Jon turned to look at him.

“You want to know what her ankles feel like on my shoulders? Or her knees?”

Robb coughed violently, nearly spilling his cereal on himself. He set it on the floor and smacked at his chest twice. “Jon, you fucking twat.”

“Told you,” Jon shrugged.

He’d left the door slightly ajar. He opened it fully, almost muttering another apology before he saw her. She was asleep again, curled on her side, her hair fanned out across his pillows. Her brows were furrowed, and she looked angry.

Jon found his phone and took a picture to show her later. He slid into bed beside her, pulling her hair out of the way and throwing an arm around her waist. He checked his work email, happy that there was no weekend emergency. He groaned at the message request from his stupid uncle, Viserys. He did not seem to realize that being disowned as a Targaryen did not mean that Jon got his allowance all of a sudden. Jon jumped through less hoops for those entitled fucking pricks than Viserys ever did. Jon blocked the account, then sent a message to his half-sister, Rhaenys, to try and get someone to do something about it, knowing full well she was the least likely to tell someone else and most likely to go and threaten Viserys’s balls herself. She and Eggy were the only two he could stand to see more than once every two years.

Then he opened the notification from Robb at one in the morning, squinting.

_“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,”_ the little drunk Jon on the screen sang. Jon groaned. Good gods, how drunk had he _been?_ Little drunk Jon pointed in the vague direction of the camera. _“Robb!”_

_“What?”_ The phone shook as Robb laughed.

_“’M gonna marry your sister!”_ Little drunk Jon slurred. Jon wished he could crawl into a hole and die. Robb was going to have that video until he died. Then, it would live on in his phone and the cloud.

_“The Pact!”_

_“The Pact!”_

The video automatically looped, and Jon watched in apathetic horror. Except, not paying as much attention to the main drama of little drunk Jon’s slurring and swaying meant he could watch little tipsy Sansa. The way her hand froze in his hair when he shouted _Robb!_ The little smile that formed on her lips when he said he’d marry her. The complete loss of that smile when Theon yelled about that stupid fucking Pact.

He needed to apologize again. He’d crossed more than one line. If she wanted him, _really_ wanted him, she wouldn’t have asked him to be her _fake_ boyfriend. She was put together enough to ask a man out. He was just an idiot.

But he’d already apologized, and she’d accepted his apology. Jon shouldn’t annoy her. It was done.

Rhaenys answered him, _What a fuck nut. I got this baby bro_ _💪🏽💪🏽_

_Fuck him up_ Jon replied.

_Dad’s gonna want you at the next Feast_

_He can eat a dick too. He knows I spend the Feast of the Mother with the Starks. No way in any hell_

_Jon_

_Talk to you later_

Jon took a deep breath. Throwing his phone through his window would probably wake up Sansa. And he’d have to get a new phone. Which he didn’t necessarily want to have to deal with. The guys at work would take the piss out of him if they found out. He settled for shoving it under a pillow.

Sansa turned to face him, eyes half-closed. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Jon answered, smoothing some hair out of her face. “Just family shit.”

“Your dad sucks,” Sansa said, dropping her head onto his arm. “Good thing the apple rolled away from the tree and down the hill into a little river.”

“What?” Jon grinned. She shook her head, eyes closing once more. Her breathing evened out and he was left holding her once more. He laughed quietly to himself, pressing his forehead against hers. She sighed in her sleep. Jon found himself pacing his breathing to hers, and soon enough, sleep was reclaiming him as well.

They were a little late for breakfast by the time they finally rolled out of bed, but Sansa lit up at the idea of brunch and tugged him out of the apartment without acknowledging her older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the people who are commenting, I had no plan at ALL for any of the Targs until I was asked about it, so now you're getting an entire subplot (then plot) about them!! Reviews feed creators, even it's just as simple as 'I liked this'  
> Thank you to everyone who gives kudos as well!!!!!! And follows!! Y'allst make me so damn happy


	9. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Robb force Sansa to watch a horror movie. She's not a fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy there's that update I promised!

“Jon, do we have to,” Sansa whined.

“Not only did you pick the movie the last _three times,”_ Jon held up the corresponding number of fingers. “But it was the _same movie!”_

“You fell asleep!” Sansa said.

“Because it was boring!”

“You take that back!” Sansa gasped. Jon lifted his eyebrows and spread his hands. “You take it back!”

She lunged toward him, but he caught her wrists and held her against him. “Or what?”

She glared down at him. “Or I won’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!” Robb called from the kitchen.

“Piss off, Robb!”

“It’s my _favorite_ movie,” Sansa pouted at Jon.

“And it’s long and boring,” Jon answered in the same tone. The last time he hadn’t fallen asleep; she had. The movie was good. They just had a bad habit of starting it later than Jon’s body seemed to want to allow. It wasn’t boredom that had him falling asleep, it was usually Sansa. The first time he’d sat on the floor with his head between her legs while she brushed, combed, separated, and braided his hair. He’d kept them in all weekend because he loved them. The only problem was that Sansa refused to do them again on account of his snoring through the second half of the movie. Jon still didn’t think he snored at all. The second time she’d put the movie on (claiming the end was the best part), she put her feet in his lap while they sat on opposite ends of the couch. This wasn’t unusual for them at all, as it was the easiest way to prevent Robb or Theon from attempting to sit on the couch with them. Jon played with her toes as he watched the movie, watching her twitch in response out of the corner of his eye. Somewhere along the line he’d started massaging her foot, eliciting a noise or two that had Robb banging on the door to his room. Jon had turned up the movie and repeated the couple of motions that had Sansa quite literally moaning.

All it had earned him was another couple of bangs and a shout of, _“No fucking in the living room!”_

Sansa had crawled in Jon’s lap and pretended to moan again; this time much louder. Robb’s door had flung open, Sansa had laughed loud enough to deafen, and Jon had giggled fiendishly.

Sansa had stayed in his lap, which wasn’t bad at all. His forehead had fallen into her shoulder, and he’d passed out.

The last time, she’d watched the movie with her head in his lap, letting him play with her hair idly. He hadn’t even noticed she was asleep until the credits were rolling.

Sansa’s shit list was not a fun place to be. She kept threatening to spend the night at Arya’s. And she was far sneakier with her punishments than a girl as pretty as her had any right to be. She kept using it against him. At lunch it was photos for Margaery; on the ride home it was old pop love ballads; at dinner it was the thieving of his pasta. She just smiled at him and did something before he had any chance to recover. Stupidly unfair.

“Jon, please?” Sansa gave him those big pleading blue eyes. He glowered back. _Don’t break, don’t break, you’re a man of principles._ “It’s my favorite.”

“I’m not watching _Pride and Prejudice_ four times in two weeks,” Jon shook his head. There. That was that.

Only she kept giving him those damned eyes.

“Week and a half,” Robb corrected. Thank the gods that his best friend could still recognize when he was floundering and bother to help.

“Precisely,” Jon released Sansa.

“Piss off, Robb,” Sansa snapped at her brother. “ _You_ don’t get an opinion.”

“Apparently, I do,” Robb grinned lopsidedly. Jon smirked out of habit, knowing their ways. Sansa did too, stepping away from Jon. Maybe it wouldn’t get him off her shit list, but it might break her roll for long enough that she’d forget he was on it.

“Guys,” she whined.

“We’re in agreement,” Jon prowled closer as Robb did, and Sansa backed toward the wall.

“Hell, I’d even hang around and watch the movie.”

“You’re welcome to, Robb.”

“Thank you, Jon.”

Sansa frowned at Jon. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side.”

“Best friends since infancy, can’t be helped,” Robb boasted. He slung an arm around Jon’s chest, then grabbed his jaw and planted a kiss on Jon’s cheek.

“Robb!” Jon shoved him off. Robb cackled and found the remote for the TV in the couch. Sansa slid her hand into Jon’s and pressed herself against his arm. He glanced up at her and swallowed. “What?”

“My movie means Robb goes scurrying off to his room,” Sansa said. She bit her lip and Jon grunted. She clicked her tongue, squeezing his hand. _Don’t break_. _Principles._

“It’s not that scary,” Jon promised, squeezing back. “It’s more thriller than true horror story.”

“Try to remember that dearest Sansa is a little bitch, Jon,” Robb said. He fell onto the couch with a groan.

“ _Robb_ ,” Jon growled.

His best friend turned and looked at him over the back of his couch. “She _is_. It is known.”

“Name calling isn’t going to turn her over to our side,” Jon shook his head.

Robb scoffed, “We don’t need her on our side, we out number her.”

“There’s not anything in the world that could get me on your side anyway,” Sansa said stubbornly.

Jon smirked. “You wanna bet?”

“Gah, you two are the worst! Come sit down already,” Robb groaned.

Jon tugged Sansa with him, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and letting Sansa sit between him and Robb. She tucked her feet up under her while Robb started the movie.

The first jump scare was completely predictable, but given it was a jump scare, it still got Robb and Jon. Sansa, apparently unprepared, shouted, “Azor Ahai!”

Jon chuckled as she squirmed closer to him, gripping his forearm tightly. “It’s a jump scare. Low brow horror.”

“The puns of the horror genre,” Robb agreed.

“I hate this,” Sansa bit out, eyes locked on the screen.

“It’s _The Others_ ,” Robb said. “It’s historical.”

Jon snorted. “Barely.”

“I don’t like it,” Sansa mumbled, shifting closer to Jon. He slipped an arm around her waist.

“I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t poke fun,” Sansa smacked his chest lightly.

She watched most the movie through her fingers, a source of endless entertainment for Jon and Robb. As the heroes’ numbers dwindled, Sansa came closer and closer to crawling straight into Jon’s lap. She spent most the third act mumbling, “Nope, no, no, no, nope,” into his shirt. By the climax, Robb wasn’t much better, his knees to his chest as he rocked back and forth, his head ducked down. Jon only survived by feeding off the fact that he wasn’t as bad as them.

“Is he going to win?” Sansa lifted her head slightly, then looked at Jon. She looked disgusted more than frightened. “Does the _villain_ win?! What kind of messed up-“

“Shh, just watch,” Jon chided, poking her side lightly. She grumbled, tilting her head so she was mostly looking at his lap. Jon cleared his throat, poking her again.

“Stop.”

“Watch the movie.”

“I don’t like bad-guys-win movies,” Sansa said.

“Just watch it,” Jon said again.

“Shh!” Robb hissed. “It’s about to happen!”

“What?”

“Shh!” Jon joined Robb.

Sansa lifted her head to watch as the thought-dead, type-cast, stereotype fulfilling, slutty one absolutely skewered the newly risen King of the Night. Sansa screamed through a laugh, pumping one fist while the other pulled at Jon’s shirt. He laughed with and at her, trying to pry his shirt from her grip before she ripped it or yanked too hard and sent their heads clanging together. The movie wound down quickly, and Sansa watched without hiding, her legs in Jon’s lap, sitting so close, his hand around her. He could feel where her shorts ended, his fingertips just barely touching the skin of her thigh. Jon tried to focus on the movie as Sansa started idly twirling a strand of hair over her fingers, smiling at the screen. She gasped at the ominous last few frames that were so clearly begging for sequel funding.

“I hated that,” she said as the credits began.

“It’s a great movie!” Robb exclaimed. “How can you hate it?”

“I couldn’t even watch it!”

“That’s just ‘cause you’re a pansy,” Robb waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m picking the movie next time,” Sansa declared, pulling herself up off Jon. She fell sideways into the couch. “Ah, damn it.” Jon bit down on his laugh as she tried to get standing. “Shut up.”

“It’s cute,” Jon said.

“Shut up.” Sansa got to her feet. Robb turned off the TV, sending the room into a sudden dark. Sansa yelped as Jon procured his phone, turning on the flashlight before handing it over. She took it, flashed it in his face, then went and turned on the lights in his bedroom and the kitchen before retreating to the bathroom with his phone still in hand.

“She got you wrapped around her finger pretty fast,” Robb said. Jon looked away from the bathroom door, feeling his face heat.

“She’s . . . Sansa,” Jon scratched at his jaw. He sighed. “I think I’ve always been a little bit wrapped around her finger.”

He tried not to think about it. It made remembering that it was all fake, all a lie, that much worse. The only reason he hadn’t given up were nights like these, nights where she just touched him without thinking, nights where she seemed to know exactly what he needed as he needed it. He didn’t think anyone could fake that, but it also didn’t mean that Sansa was truly interested in him other than platonically.

“Love is friendship caught on fire,” Robb mumbled.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Jon asked, probably too quickly. Robb smiled lazily.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. He got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen. “I have a date.”

“Really? When?” Jon sat up.

“Sunday,” Robb shrugged again.

“Been a while for you,” Jon smirked.

“Yeah,” Robb pulled a beer from the fridge. “Want one?”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he sighed. “She’s cute.”

“I’d think so,” Jon answered. “Take a lot to catch your eyes these days.”

“I know it’s stupid,” Robb rummaged through the drawer after the bottle opener. “But I needed Sansa to be okay before I let myself get distracted.”

“You think her dating another guy means she’s okay?”

“No,” Rob hummed. He tended to do that when he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should. Jon heard the bottle snap and hiss, then Robb threw the cap into the trash. “I think her choosing you means she’s done giving everything and getting nothing. And that’s . . . That’s all she needs.”

“You know she only hung out with us in the beginning because she wanted you to think she was okay,” Jon said softly.

“I thought she would say no,” Robb nodded. “I was waiting for her to say no, and she never did and it only made things worse.”

“Then you should’ve stopped asking,” Jon said. “Do you know _how much worse_ you could’ve made things? Do you know what you must’ve sounded like, hounding her every step, _where are you_ and _who are you with?”_

Robb took a long pull from his beer and said very softly, “I know. I never meant . . . I know.”

“You have this tendency to assume everyone in the world is as decent as you,” Jon pushed off the couch and went to his room. “It’s not the case.”

“Jon,” Robb called before he could close the door. He glanced over his shoulder. Robb drank again. “If you hurt her now, after all this, after she’s _finally_ healing. I won’t forgive you. And I _will_ hurt you.”

“I know,” Jon nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really Modern!Jonsa if Robb doesn't threaten to kill Jon?


	10. Wants and Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a crisis and Sansa talks him down. Sam has a crisis that can't be solved by either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's *angst hours* (but like immediately resolved/repressed angst cos I'm /that/ person screaming JUST TALK into the void but only about the angsty stuff, not the true mutual pining stuff

“Jon?” Sansa knocked on his door before opening it. He sat on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands. She shut the door and knelt on the floor in front of him, touching his arms gently. “Jon, are you all right?”

“Don’t,” Jon lifted his head. Sansa frowned.

“What?” She watched his face closely, trying to figure out what he’d been talking to Robb about. She hadn’t really been able to hear much, not after she’d gathered they were talking about her and started humming as she brushed her teeth. Robb had a toothbrush on hand for her long before anything happened with Jon. She set his phone on the bed beside him.

“I think this might have been a bad idea,” Jon said lowly. Sansa tilted her head.

“I told you, I don’t like horror movies,” she tried to smile. Jon just ducked his head again. “Jon, talk to me.”

“I- I think we need to stop this,” Jon whispered. Sansa swallowed, shaking her head slightly. “Sansa, be honest, this wasn’t a great idea to start and now . . . If I tell Robb it was all fake, he won’t believe me. If this ends and we stay friends, we keep doing things just the way we are, they won’t believe it’s over. If we fake a fight and it all ends in dramatic flames, Robb will murder me in my sleep-“

“Stop saying that, Robb’s _not_ going to hurt you,” Sansa said sharply. “You’re his _best friend!_ ”

“And you’re his _little sister_ ,” Jon said clearly. Sansa scowled, and he shook his head. “Why do you think Theon called _me_ and not him that night?”

“You are _not_ the same as that bastard,” Sansa said. “Don’t even- He was a _monster._ ”

Jon took a deep breath, looking away for a long moment. His fists worked against his sides, clenching and unclenching. She waited. If he needed to say something, it needed to be said. She wouldn’t shut him down, shut him up, shut him out. He deserved better. “How did you plan to end it? You thought it through, what was the plan?”

Sansa met his dark eyes, still shaking her head. Her chest deflated slightly. He wanted it over already? She tried to keep her voice measured, even. “I figured . . . I figured we wouldn’t get along at some point and then it’d just sort of happen naturally. I didn’t think we’d just . . . Hit it off.”

Jon groaned, “But didn’t you choose me _because_ we get along?”

Did he really think any of this would’ve worked if she’d have _chosen_ someone else? Didn’t he get that- That . . . She only trusted _him_. “Well, when we were kids there was always a point that we couldn’t reach past without things going sideways-“

“We’re not kids anymore, Sansa!” Jon stood up, and to keep from finding herself in a rather compromising position, Sansa fell back onto her ass. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He hauled her up before she could blink, and then they were nose to nose. Sansa found herself breathless, looking down at him but only just. “Jon- I . . . Are you saying this isn’t working because it’s working too well?”

Because damn if she couldn’t get her eyes off his lips.

But he turned his head away. Her heart dropped out of her chest. She steeled herself, drawing in a full breath. “Or are you asking for an out?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“How can you _not know?”_ Sansa demanded. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Jon sat on the bed again.

“I was _done_ until Theon called me that day. I was ready to pack everything up and hitchhike north and spend the rest of my life under the stars,” Jon looked up at her. She clenched her jaw, trying her best not to interrupt, trying to keep herself in control and locked down. “He said ‘It’s Sansa.’ That’s it. Just ‘It’s Sansa.’ I was on board. I didn’t know what or why or _anything_ , I just knew I was going to show up if you needed me.”

“Jon,” Sansa whispered, control shattered completely. How did he do that? How did he know to strike so deep, so true?

“It’s always been like that,” Jon frowned at her. “I never cared about anything so long as it would help you. But I- I don’t know anymore. What you _need_. I can’t tell if it’s just in my head or-”

“Jon,” she pushed his hair back from his face, regaining that lost step between them. “The only thing I need right now is you on my side. As long as I have that, I don’t need anything else from you. You’re- You’re my _friend_. You’re a damn good friend, better than I deserve.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jon smiled his tiny little smile, reaching up to touch her hand. “But I do my best.”

“It’s enough,” Sansa answered. _You’re enough_. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I was ever mean to you as a kid. I know I could be . . .”

“A brat,” Jon chuckled quietly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sansa laughed. “I’m sorry nonetheless.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, there is,” Sansa insisted. “I was awful to you. You have to accept my apology.”

“What happens if I don’t?” Jon asked. Sansa bit her lip, looking down at him. His smile slowly split his face in two. “The queen of empty threats.”

“I’ll make you watch _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” Sansa said. “The Colin Firth version.”

“Is it that much worse than the Kiera Knightly version?” Jon scoffed.

Sansa gaped at him. “First of all: it’s a TV series, not a movie, so it’s much longer. Secondly, you were paying attention to the movie? I thought you said it was boring.”

“I can recognize her; she was in _Pirates_. She was _the_ pirate,” Jon shook his head.

“Okay, we’ll watch that next time,” Sansa proposed, “Compromise.”

“I thought you were punishing me,” Jon smirked. “Not a very punishing compromise.”

“Then I rescind my offer,” Sansa said loftily. She couldn’t stop smiling, which really ruined her air of offense. Jon laughed once, then made a serious face and grunted at her. She burst out laughing, shoving him. He didn’t fall back, so she stepped between his legs and shoved him again. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on top of him, still laughing.

It was a miracle they didn’t hit each other’s heads.

“Jon!” Sansa swatted his chest. His hands were warm and huge on her back, and she struggled to put her hands somewhere she could push herself up from. He laughed beneath her, his chest rumbling with it. She planted one hand on either side of his head and rose enough to look at him.

A very, very big mistake.

“Is this still part of the punishment?” Jon asked.

“Are you calling me fat?” Sansa gasped. Jon laughed, closing his eyes and holding her tighter. Sansa giggled, lifting one hand to push some of her hair behind her ear.

“If I called you fat, you’d have to call me a liar,” Jon chuckled.

“Right, so are you calling me fat or not?”

“Obviously not-“

“Oh, obvious was it-“

“Are you ever going to get off me?”

“What, scared of having a woman on top of you?”

“Unless you’re going to start taking off clothes, it’s not exactly fun for me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve already seen most of it, solid eighty per cent,” Jon scrunched up his face at his pretend calculations. Sansa swatted his shoulder and rolled off him, one of his arms pinned beneath her as she fell to her side.

“Don’t let Robb hear,” she snickered. “He’ll wonder after your patience.”

“Patience?” Jon turned his head to look at her.

“By now it should be a full one hundred per cent. He hears it’s eighty and he’ll naturally assume that you’re too impatient to fully rid me of clothes before you start doing your business.”

“Hm, he wouldn’t believe that,” Jon’s dark eyes threatened to swallow her whole. “He knows damn well how . . . _methodical_ I am in bed.”

Sansa didn’t know how to break the tension consuming her whole without doing something foolish that crossed all sorts of lines. Her eyes could not escape his face, and she tried for an old joke that had at one point been her only defense against Robb and Jon’s collective teasing. “Sometimes I really do think the two of you are having gratuitous sex behind all our backs, and he’s fully in on our little secret, and the two of you are having your jollies. It’d be the plot twist of the century.”

“Handsome as he is, I much prefer you,” Jon said. Sansa licked her lips, shifting slightly closer.

“Jon, I think I might be-“ Sansa stifled a shriek as something beneath her vibrated. She rolled off Jon’s arm fully, sitting up and searching for the demon. Jon sighed as he grabbed his phone, glancing at the screen before taking the call.

“Yeah, Sam, what is it?”

“It’s happening!” Sam shouted from the other side. Jon winced and held the phone out in front of him with a scowl. “Jon, _Jon!_ It’s happening, it’s happening _right now!”_

“What’s happening?”

Sansa gasped, flicking Jon’s shoulder. “The baby, you idiot!”

“Little one!” agreed Sam. “Little human coming out of Gilly!”

“Which hospital is it again-“

“Septa Mordane Eternal,” Sansa flicked him once more. “Honestly, Jon, do you pay any attention?”

“Sansa,” he sighed. “We’ll meet you there.”

“I didn’t- Did I interrupt?”

“Sam, the little one is more important than anything I could be doing with Sansa right now, don’t worry about it- ow!”

“You don’t have to be an ass,” Sansa said shortly, getting to her feet.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” Jon said again. “I promise, Sam . . . Yeah. Okay, see you soon.”

Sansa pulled open the door to his room, using the light to find the kitchen switch and flick them on. She went in search of her shoes, biting her lip and standing on her toes to try and catch sight of them.

“D’you have to pinch me that hard?” Jon grumbled.

“You’re being daft,” Sansa said.

“Brat.”

“Bastard.”

“Menace.”

“Coming from you?”

“Brat.”

“Unoriginal,” Sansa clicked her tongue. She spotted her shoes over by the couch. Jon crossed into her way, then again when she tried to weave around him. She glared down at him. “What?”

“Are you sure you want to come with?” Jon asked. Sansa blinked, trying to figure out what he was after. He sighed. “Sam’s not close with his family, so it’d mean a lot of you were there, but I understand if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

“Jon,” Sansa laughed a little. “It’s a baby. Gilly’s my _friend_ , I’m going to be there with a box of chocolates and a little stuffed bear.”

“Where are we going to get those?”

“Hospital gift shop. Now, let’s go, the little one is trying to escape, remember?”

“Hospital gift- Sansa,” Jon groaned as she slipped past him, dropping onto the couch and shoving her feet in her shoes. Jon went and grabbed socks, hopping around on one foot while he made for his shoes. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek as she watched, not-so-subtly admiring his calf muscles. “Get your shoes on.”

Sansa hastily returned her attention to her feet, her face burning. “Sorry.”

“You keep looking at me like that and we’re not going to make it to the hospital,” Jon said lowly. Sansa met his eyes, rising from the couch. He cleared his throat and stuffed his feet in his shoes.

“Why are you two up and banging about for?” Robb mumbled groggily, half falling out of his room in nothing but boxers.

“Sam’s having a baby,” Jon said, while Sansa said, “Gilly’s in labour.”

“What?”

“Sam. Baby. Now.”

“It’s half past one,” Robb complained.

“Why don’t you tell that to the tiny little human currently ripping through Gilly’s-“

“Sansa,” Jon cut her off with an exasperated look. “Just . . . Go back to bed, Robb. If she’s still at it in the morning, I’ll text you.”

“It _is_ the morning,” Robb grumbled, retreating back into his room.


	11. The Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon contemplates the meaning of everything while Sansa sleeps on his shoulder. (Jon and Sansa wait for Gilly to push a whats-it out of her hoohaa.)

Hour four in the waiting room had Sansa asleep on Jon’s shoulder, his arm around her, and his head back against the wall. She had a tiny little velvety teddy bear with a checkered purple bowtie in her lap, and the box of assorted chocolates sat in the next chair over.

Jon was too stuck in his own head to sleep. Especially with the object of his thoughts so close.

It’d become impossible to avoid.

He wanted her.

Not like one wants a good job and big house. The way one wanted to paint or write. As though a part of them would die without doing so.

He wanted to know what it was like to have her writhing beneath him. He wanted to know how she said his name while in the throes of ecstasy. He wanted to know how wet he could get her with his voice alone. He wanted to hold her hand walking down the street and kiss her when her brother was being mean.

He wanted it to be _real_. He wanted her to want _him_ , too. And he thought that maybe she did. Maybe. That maybe was the only thing keeping him at her side. But it would also drive him mad if he never knew what the truth around that _maybe_ really was.

He couldn’t even disentangle himself if he tried. And he had. He should’ve. But he couldn’t, because she so clearly didn’t want him to. Every time he edged into dangerous territory, she came along willingly. Azor Ahai, had Sam not called when he had, there was no telling to what Jon would’ve done. Especially with her encouraging stares and little-

Sansa shifted against his shoulder, pressing her face into his arm. She mumbled nonsense quietly and sighed. He lifted his head, tilting it down against hers. She settled.

There was something about her that just . . . Fit. Jon couldn’t have explained it if he tried. Not without fucking it up somehow. It was a miracle he hadn’t done already.

It was easier to think about her than it was his surroundings. The empty chairs, in their little configurations. The smell of antiseptic and hand-sanitizer. The scrubs and the people who wore them.

Last time he’d been in a hospital, it’d been to watch Ygritte die. No one had bothered to tell him she was sick until she was about to undergo surgery—again. She hadn’t been afraid. They’d told her the risks. She just wanted to see him.

Bullshit, Tormund had said. She was afraid, and she needed to see him one last time.

Jon didn’t know. Would never know.

In all honesty, it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It was a different hospital. Different scrubs. Different layout. Different paint on the walls. It helped, he thought.

Sam wandered by. Every half hour or so he checked in, each time paler than the last. Jon offered a smile and a careful wave. Sam came and sat beside him.

“Every minute, I swear, there’s some new doctor or nurse come to look between her legs,” Sam muttered. “I haven’t slept in twenty-six hours. Twenty-six! Sitting down is getting to be dangerous. Two more minutes of this and I’ll be like her.” Sam gestured to Sansa. She had that face again, the angry sleep face, with her eyebrows knotted together and her little pout.

“I think I’m in trouble, Sam,” Jon sighed.

“Oh, really? And how’s that?”

“She’s . . . I think I’m falling in love with her,” Jon said quietly.

Sam cleared his throat, “Have you told her that?”

“Not yet.”

“Right. Um. Why is that a problem?”

“It’s been a month. Not even.”

“And? You’ve known each other your whole lives. Honestly, it’d be a little strange if you didn’t feel strongly by now,” Sam said. “They say it takes a year to truly get to know a person, but you’ve got those in spades.”

“Right but this,” Jon gestured at Sansa, passed out on his arm, with his unburdened hand. “This is new. _Very_ new.”

“Right, well,” Sam pushed himself out of the chair. “I’m going back in. Don’t fuck up.”

“Sam,” Jon hissed. “Sam!” Sam gave a little wave and went back around the corner. Jon groaned. “You were no help at all.”

Sansa picked her head up suddenly, looking around wildly. Jon could’ve cursed; of course, she’d been listening. She grabbed Jon’s arm and threw it off her, rising to her feet and spinning in a circle hastily, pulling at her hair.

That glimpse of her face was enough for him to know that there was something different happening. The teddy bear lay forgotten on the carpet.

“Sansa,” Jon said quietly. She paused with her back to him, her shoulders raising to her ears. Jon got up immediately, coming around to stand in front of her. “Sansa? What is it?”

“Jon,” she reached for him, grabbing his wrist tightly. “What are you doing here? You have to go before he sees me talking to you.”

“Sansa, what are you talking about?” Jon asked calmly. She’d been dreaming, he recognized the dull, dazed look in her eyes. He touched her cheek gently. She flinched, her fingers digging into his other wrist. Her chest heaved as she hyperventilated, eyes still searching for something. “Sansa, I’m here. I promised, I’ll protect you, remember?”

“No one can protect anyone,” Sansa said, taking a step back. Jon’s hand slipped away from her.

“Sansa,” he said louder. She flinched again, casting suspicious looks around the waiting room. He grabbed her hands before she could pull away completely. “It was a bad dream.”

Her brows pulled together. “I didn’t fall asleep. I _can’t_ fall asleep.”

“You were out cold for a half an hour,” Jon said.

Her shoulders dropped, “He’s not here.” Jon shook his head. “Shit. _Shit_. I’m sorry. I don’t know- That wasn’t-”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I- I shouldn’t have said that,” Sansa muttered. She turned away, looking down the hall. “I just- I don’t like it here. I didn’t realize we were going to be _here_.”

“Have you been here before?” Jon asked. She didn’t even look at him. “Sansa? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Jon clenched his jaw as she stepped away. “I’m going to find the bathroom.”

“Sans-“

“Don’t let the baby be born without me.”

“I don’t have much say in that!”

She came back before Sam did, at least. She’d been slightly rough around the edges when they’d left his place—smudged eyeliner and mascara fallout. Sleeping on his arm hadn’t helped much with the darkness under her eyes. She returned from the bathroom without as many black specks beneath her eyes, but her skin was red from where she had rubbed at it.

Jon sighed, brushing his thumbs under her eyes. “What’d you do?”

“It wasn’t coming off,” Sansa mumbled.

“Jon!” Sam came bustling around the corner, grinning ear to ear, his cheeks fully coloured.

“Oh, my gods,” Jon whispered.

“A boy,” Sam beamed. “Our little Sam.”

“You have a child,” Jon said quietly. “An _actual_ child.”

Sansa made a high-pitched squealing sound that echoed through the quiet hallways. “Oh, Sam, I bet he’s beautiful!”

“He is,” Sam said, much, much quieter. “They’ll only let one person in at a time right now, and he’s asleep.”

“Okay,” Sansa nodded. She touched Jon’s arm lightly. “Go on.”

“Yes, erm, Gilly has a question for you, Jon,” Sam said, grinning again.

Jon didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, and as such he followed Sam back and around to whatever room Gilly was in. The baby was gone. Jon looked around uncertainly.

“They took him for tests,” Gilly said, giving the sort of smile that perfectly belayed her anxiety. She looked worse than Sansa, which was almost exactly what he should’ve expected. It still alarmed him slightly to see her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, skin pale and dark half-moons beneath her eyes. “It’s normal.”

“Doesn’t make it easy,” Jon said. Gilly’s smile faded slightly into something more genuine. Jon came closer. “Are you all right?”

“I came too late for an epidural,” Gilly said quietly. “Still, I- I feel like I barely remember it at all. Isn’t that strange?”

“Probably the only way you’d ever consider doing it again,” Jon said. Gilly’s smile eased further.

“Probably.”

“Sam said you had a question.”

“Yes . . . I thought I’d have him back by now, but . . .” Gilly watched the door for a moment. When nothing happened, her gaze fell to Jon. He tried not to shift on his feet. “I’d like you to be his godfather.”

Jon grinned slowly. “You- You’re sure?”

“Yes,” said Gilly.

“It- It’d be an honor.”

“You’re a good man,” Gilly smiled again. She sighed and leaned back into her pillows. “I just . . . Sam and I are each others’ only family. If anything happened-“

“You’re my family too,” Jon said lowly. “Nothing’s going to happen, Gilly. You’re going to be great. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” Gilly breathed. Jon nodded. “Can you get Sam?”

“Yeah,” Jon nodded. “Sansa got you chocolates. And a teddy bear for the little one.”

“She’s so sweet,” Gilly smiled again. She then turned very stern. “I like her, Jon.”

“So do I,” Jon said nervously.

“She makes you happy,” Gilly said.

“I’m aware.”

“Stay out of that pretty head of yours,” Gilly advised. “Just . . . Let yourself be happy. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Jon nodded. “I’ll get Sam.”

Sam hurried back into the room, and Jon wandered back to Sansa. She paced in the waiting room, clutching the bear to her chest. The chocolates were still on one of the seats. Jon leaned against the wall and watched her for a moment.

He could imagine her as a mother. It wasn’t hard. Sansa adored kids, always had. He knew she wanted them. Maybe not now, maybe not in a year. But in five, in ten. She’d be great.

Jon sighed, wiping at his bleary eyes. He had to be exhausted to even consider thinking like that. He’d never considered Ygritte like that. Mostly because she insisted at every opportunity that no, she would not consider marrying him; no, she would not like kids; no, she would not give up her freedom for him. Jon had never understood why being with him felt like being un-free. She never explained, and they split without much love lost.

He thought it would’ve been fine if she hadn’t been sick. Now, he always had to wonder: what parts were his fault, what parts hers, what parts the tumor in her brain.

“Jon?”

He blinked. Sansa had paused in her pacing, watching him. He pushed forward off the wall, dragging his hand across his jaw.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “‘M half-asleep.”

“What did Gilly want?”

“The little one,” Jon said. Sansa raised a quizzical brow as he smiled broadly, remembering that this was all real, and his mate now had a kid. “He’s my godson.”

Sansa beamed at him. “That’s precious.”

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Jon admitted. Sansa pressed the teddy bear into his hands. He ran a finger through the soft synthetic fur.

Sansa sighed, “I love kids.”

Jon watched her as she swooped back to the chair and grabbed the chocolates. He offered his arm and she slipped her hand through his elbow. “Your mum still want you to be a teacher?”

“It’d be three years for my certificate at this point,” Sansa said lowly. “I’d rather get a masters and a job.”

“If I go to law school,” Jon said slowly. “Would you get your masters?”

“You mean . . . In the same place?” Sansa’s bright blue eyes fell to his. He shrugged, not sure what exactly he was trying to say. She leaned into him further. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed.

“Could go to Oldtown, or even Highgarden,” Sansa hummed. Jon chuckled, shaking his head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Seriously, what?”

“It’s,” Jon grinned at her. “I’m sleep deprived, and it sounds like you want to move across the country with me.”

“Well, I’m sleep deprived,” Sansa lifted her chin. “And inclined to plan.”

“Oh, do continue.”

They delivered the chocolates and the teddy bear before unfortunately having to leave. They got to look at the tiny red-faced baby through a window. Sansa loved watching all the little babies squirm or sleep in their little plastic cribs. He had to drag her away, yawning. Jon was certain he’d crash the car even after they were in his apartment building. Theon was having breakfast with a blonde woman. Sansa waved; Jon said a brief hello.

They collapsed into bed. Jon tried to remember something scandalous to say to her, but she was asleep before he could figure it out.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered to her. She didn’t react.


	12. Abed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wakes feeling warm and safe enough to unpack some trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all out here like diD sHE HeaR HiM?  
> How many times do I have to say it's a s l o w b u r n  
> (That said, I have written the first make out but not the confession so, you know. It won't be forever, loves)

Sansa woke tangled in Jon. There was no better place to be. She had an arm slung over his chest, and his was under her head. One of her legs fit between his.

Something danced along the edge of her memory, a warm feeling. A dream? Sansa rarely remembered her dreams. Not unless they were nightmares. Not unless they were bad. Perhaps it was just the fact that she’d fallen asleep before Jon. She rarely did so, often spent an indeterminate amount of time just listening to him breathe before she fell asleep. She’d hit the bed and been asleep the night before, though, exhaustion bone deep.

Maybe the warm feeling was just physical warmth. Jon was all but a furnace, his sheets twisting them together. Sansa sighed, nuzzling closer. She liked this, more than she should. More than she ever meant to.

“Morning,” he rumbled lowly. Sansa hummed and lifted her head enough to see his face. He smiled. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Sansa shifted and looked around the room. The light trying to penetrate the blinds was bright. “What time is it?”

“Just past one,” Jon said. Sansa groaned.

“I was supposed to-“

“Margaery already called,” Jon lifted her phone. “She’s happy to go to the farmer’s market tomorrow instead.”

“You answered for me?” Sansa blinked. Jon shrugged.

“You were _out_. I tried poking you. You hit me and didn’t even wake up,” Jon made a sad face. “I’m honestly a little hurt.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked if you were too busy sucking me off to bother answering your phone.”

Sansa was sure she was a fragment away from spontaneous combustion. “She what?!”

“I told her you were asleep, but she didn’t believe me,” Jon smirked. “Honestly, I don’t get how her mind works.”

“It works like this: she’s better at making me red than you are,” Sansa gestured at her flaming face before dropping down to hide in his shirt. He smelled good.

“No, she’s using _me_ to make you red,” Jon sifted his hand through her hair. She closed her eyes. She loved it when he touched her hair, but lately, and now especially, it made her want him to do other things with it. Like pull it. She normally have those thoughts about people. Margaery was constantly ragging on her for her unimaginative sex life. Jon, on the other hand . . . she trusted. Beyond rationality, she trusted him. “Which means I get those points.”

“Points,” Sansa smiled against him. “There’s no points!”

“‘Course there are,” Jon worked his fingers through some small knots in her hair and started back at the top. Sansa sighed, lifting her head and resting her chin on his sternum. He raised his eyebrows. His eyes were dark and bright all at once, captivating in their intensity. Oh, she was burning, burning, burning. She wanted him. She really really, just _wanted_ him. His voice was low, gravelly with morning disuse, and better than anything she’d ever heard in all her life. “That color’s fifty points. All the way to your ears and down into your chest.”

Thank the gods he couldn’t read her mind. Sansa bit her lip. “You look at my chest often, Jon?”

Pink spread across his cheeks. “It’s a good chest.”

Then, because she was certain she could not blush any more, she whispered, “Stop thinking about me sucking you off.”

“I wasn’t.” The pink spread through his whole face as his voice cracked. Sansa bit her lip again to hide her smile. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking about- erm- about-“

“Dolt,” Sansa laughed. He pinched her side and she shrieked. “Jon!”

“Well, it’s your bloody fault!” Jon’s fingers moved against her sides lightly, and she found herself unable to stop laughing, writhing on top of him.

“Jon, stop!” She cried breathlessly. He did not relent.

“Can’t fucking think at all around you anymore,” Jon said. She did the only thing she could think of, shoving her hands into his hair and pulling until his hands stilled. A low sort of groan left him, and Sansa met his eyes, the most dangerous of all the choices before her. Something about his flushed face made his eyes impossibly . . . more. She wasn’t sure more _what_ , but more. “Sans.”

“Jon.”

“Let go of my hair.”

“Don’t tickle me.”

“But you’re so very ticklish and I’ve only just found out.” Sansa tugged a little tighter and Jon let out a sharp breath. “All right, fine.”

“Promise.”

“I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Sans,” he said easily.

Sansa nodded, loosening her grip on his hair. He held his hands up in surrender, and she removed her own fully. There was a moment of stillness, a pause where Sansa wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and she prepared to retaliate or perhaps run to see if Robb was around to help.

Jon’s face split into a grin, and he laughed deeply. At the sight, Sansa broke into giggles, burying her head in his chest once more. She clung to his shirt, waiting for the fit to pass.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you so happy in a while,” Sansa said. He wrapped an arm around her waist slowly. She tensed, ready to administer a low blow of some sort if he decided to start tickling her again. His thumb traced a soft circle into her side. She looked up at him.

“I haven’t _been_ this happy in a while,” he said. Sansa let the low way he spoke seep into her bones. Like it was a secret, one that could kill them both.

“I made an appointment with your therapist,” Sansa admitted quietly. Jon smiled again. She touched his jawline, the growing beard there. “You have a great smile, Jon.”

“I’m glad you’re ready to talk to someone about . . . About everything,” he said. His eyes never left hers. “Sans, you deserve to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” she whispered.

She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart pound away. “Do you want to talk about what happened in the waiting room last night?”

Sansa swallowed, stilling against him. She tried to fight the tensing overtaking her. Jon was safe. He wouldn’t hurt her. “It’s the maternity ward.”

“Yeah?” He said softly. Sansa nodded. “What about it?”

“Roose’s wife had their kid there,” she murmured. “I had to stay with him. He kept- Kept poking me every time I started falling asleep. Kept . . . It was _hours_. Like, twenty- twenty-nine. Said I should- should practice for when _I_ had his-“

She shuddered, her mouth refusing to work any longer. His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her. Jon was safe. He didn’t say anything, just held her. She tried to breathe with him, but her lungs refused. She cried silently into his shirt. Jon kissed the top of her head gently. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“The first thing I did when I left him was get an IUD,” she whispered. “I took four pregnancy tests. He never . . . I wouldn’t have kept any part of him. Mom would hate me.”

“Hey,” Jon touched her cheek lightly. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, sorrowful. “Would it help you to know that I beat the living shit out of him that night?”

“You did?”

He nodded. “That’s why it took so long for me to get back. He came back and saw me getting your car, and I _lost it_. Remember what my mum used to always say?”

“You’ll get farther with honeyed words than angry fists?” Sansa said. She always loved hanging out with her mom and Jon’s when they were kids. The boys would go play in the backyard, but Sansa would stay and listen to them gossip as they knitted or embroidered things on pillows. Sansa hadn’t embroidered something in years. Only when they started to truly gossip was Sansa exiled to go play with the boys.

“She wouldn’t have been very proud of me, either,” Jon said softly.

“He didn’t hurt you?” Sansa asked, frowning. Jon shook his head. She sighed, “That’s good.”

“I mean, his face hurt my knuckles just a little bit,” Jon smiled wryly. She let out the smallest huff of laughter, shaking her head slightly. She could hardly believe him. Jon could’ve been killed, and he was making jokes about it. She tried not to think about the rest of that night, focusing instead on him.

“Your mom _would_ be proud of you, you know,” Sansa said quietly. Jon shrugged, glancing away. “She _would be_. I’m . . . I’m sorry I couldn’t go to her funeral.”

“It’s fine.”

“I should’ve been there,” she insisted. She laid her cheek over his heart, glaring at his wall. “I should’ve known better than to just . . . The little shit had a lacrosse game, and he wouldn’t let me go home for the week and I just cried the whole time and didn’t leave. I should’ve left.”

“I’d never blame you for that,” Jon rubbed her back gently in long strokes up and down her spine. “Yes, I wish you could’ve been there, but only because it would’ve been nice to see you. But things happened the way they did.”

“I was an idiot.”

“You weren’t. You aren’t.”

Sansa sighed. There was no point in arguing. He had no idea how stupid she’d been; he’d been a hundreds of miles away. They’d gone years without so much as a text between them.

And now, she was lying on his chest. So, it’d all worked out all right, hadn’t it?

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell how much I have to restrain myself from letting them kiss?  
> My writing process is just 'aw they're cute fuck they're not supposed to make out yet fuck fuck fuck Interruption! Angst! Cut to black! There we go . . . wait shit they're kissing again!'


	13. Not This, Not That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is ill, which to the Men, means pregnant.

“Sans?” She set her phone down, forcing her smile away from her face. Robb sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. She was very tired, despite having slept most the day. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable, one second shivering and the next perfectly warm. At first, she’d blamed Jon for his furnace like capabilities, but even sitting next to Theon on the couch had her fussing with her blankets every now and then, sticking her feet out of the warmth or huddling up. She blamed the coming autumn, “What’s up?”

Robb fell into the couch beside her, throwing one foot up onto his knee. “It’s about Jon.”

“Oh, we ordered enough for everybody,” Sansa leaned back into the couch. Jon was out on a Chinese run. Sunday nights had become Chinese nights two weeks past.

“Sans, you know that’s not what I meant, right?” Robb touched her hand, concern pulling his brow together. She shrugged, not wanting to worry him. “I understand that none of this is about me. But I hope you know how awful this is going to be if it ends.”

_If. If?_ Her heart skipped at the implication. _If if if if if._

“Don’t worry about it,” Sansa said. A false smile clung desperately to her face. _If_. _If_ _it ends_. What was it? Her and Jon? As friends, as soul bearers, as . . . How could something end _if_ it had not begun?

“It’s been two months, Sans,” Robb said. Sansa was well aware. Jon had taken her out to dinner last night to ‘celebrate’ their ‘monthiversary.’ Milkshake’s and burgers at a little vintage diner with vinyl booths in Sansa’s favorite shade of teal. Lots of photos of the two of them. One was now Sansa’s lock screen, and Jon had another just of her as his. She liked the ways his eyes crinkled when he smiled, she’d decided. Arya was less adamant that it was a hoax, preferring her quiet suspicions. Sansa thought she was just happy to have her room back more often than not. Robb cleared his throat.

“What are you trying to say, exactly?” Sansa asked.

Robb rubbed at his jaw. “I don’t want to be in the middle. I don’t want to pick sides. If it ends, I’m not a part of it. Unless, you know, he does something very un-Jon-like and I have to kill him.”

_It only ever began because of you. It’s all for you. Isn’t it?_

Sansa shrugged carelessly, “Fine. If it ends, I won’t vie for your attention over Jon. Happy?”

“Understand: I don’t want you to stop- er- break up. Or whatever. It is. Um . . .” Robb trailed off with a wince. “He’s good for you, Sansa. And you’re good for him.”

“The Pact,” Sansa intoned.

Robb scowled, “Don’t do that. I’m serious.”

“Thank you,” Sansa touched his hand with hers. “For your matchmaking services.”

“Gah, you’re useless!” Robb jumped to his feet.

“What do you require of us? Our firstborn?” Sansa called after him. She jumped up to watch him pace to his room. “Shall we name him after you or do you want the whole babe?”

“Sans!”

“Jon will fight to the death over him, I’m sure, he’s so very attached to the-“

Robb turned on his heel. “Sansa, you’d better not be!”

“What?” Sansa frowned.

“I swear by the Seven, if you’re pregnant, I’ll kill him as soon as he’s through the door.”

Sansa gaped at him for a moment, then burst into giggles. “Pregnant?! Robb, I’m kidding! Why would I be pregnant?!”

“‘Cause Theon went in to steal condoms from you guys a while back and there weren’t any to be found!”

Sansa froze like a deer in headlights. _Oh, gods. Oh gods. Oh gods oh gods oh gods-_

“Sansa,” Robb ground out. “Please say something.”

Panic coursed through her. He’d know if she lied. He always knew. She’d say something and it’d be a lie and he’d know and he’d punish her until the truth came out and punish her for withholding it in the first place and punish her for worrying him and-

And if she was pregnant-

If she was-

She would be stuck with him, blood shared, she’d never be rid of him he’d just have more to use against her to keep her trapped-

“Sans.”

Robb’s hands cupped her face. His eyes were blue. The same blue as her own. Tully eyes. Their mother’s. And auburn hair.

Not that vile creature who wore a man’s skin.

Her brother. Her big brother who loved her, genuinely, actually _loved_ her.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s all I need to know,” Robb said softly.

Sansa’s brain caught up belatedly, and she pulled away from him, smacking her palm into her forehead. “Of course, I’m not pregnant! I’ve got an IUD! What an idiot!”

Robb kissed the top of her head. “You’re really something, Sansa.”

She flopped back into the couch, exhausted to her core. She shivered despite the borrowed sweatpants she wore. “Where’s the thermostat at?”

“I dunno, same place it always is,” Robb shrugged.

The apartment door opened, and Sansa jumped to her feet. Jon had one ear pressed to his shoulder, his phone wedged in there. The handles of his small duffel bag were pushed all the way up to the crook of his elbow. He pulled his key out of the lock and hefted the Chinese into the air. Sansa danced over, ignoring the head rush threatening to knock her feet out from under her, taking the bag from him and setting it on the counter. His keys jingled as he held his phone up to his ear properly.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Jon said tightly. Sansa glanced back over her shoulder at him, pausing in opening the paper bag. It was sure to be loud. He winced, mouthing _work._ Sansa nodded, deciding to wait.

He’d come by way of the gym, she knew. She motioned for his bag and he switched the phone from one hand to the other, letting her take it.

“Yes, sir, I remember,” Jon said. Sansa left the bag on the foot of his bed, not wanting to pry. It was probably only dirty gym clothes anyways. Still, maybe it’d be helpful to put his dirty clothes away in his hamper. But, did she really want to touch his sweaty workout clothes? Sansa left the bag, taking a deep breath. She didn’t have to help. Jon was fully capable of taking care of his own things. She was just a little a rattled, that was all. A few more moments to herself and a few more deep breaths and she’d be fine. Just fine.

Her stomach roiled as she just stood and focused on her breath. It really was oddly hot in the apartment. Maybe she was having heat flashes? Was she old enough to have heat flashes?

Her hands trembled, and she waited for that to subside before venturing back toward the common space.

She stood in the doorway and watched as Jon swatted Robb away from the bag, pointing to his phone and then flashing his middle finger.

“Jon, behave,” she called automatically.

“No, sir, sorry, that’s my girlfriend,” Jon screwed up his face as he turned to look at her. Sansa smiled apologetically. “No, Mr. Mormont, it’s all right, really.” Robb tried for the Chinese again and Jon smacked him away just as quick as before. “Yes, it is about that time. . . . Are you sure? . . . Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to remind you again tomorrow. . . . Yes, sir. . . . Sorry?” Sansa bit her lips at the little almost squeak. Jon cleared his throat, glaring as Robb poked his cheek slowly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Okay. . . . Bye.” He all but threw his phone to the counter. “Why are you both like this?!”

“I’m sorry, Jon, it slipped out,” said Sansa. He turned his scowl to Robb.

“Sorry, that’s my girlfriend,” Robb said in a high falsetto. “Oh, no, sir, I’m so sorry!”

“I brought you food,” Jon said. Robb grinned fiendishly.

“Anything important?” Sansa asked, pushing away from the wall towards the smell of sauce drenched noodles. If she had to eat something, it may as well be good. Jon raised his eyebrows at her. “Your boss. He called on a Sunday?”

“Oh,” Jon swallowed. “Yeah.”

The fact that he said no more was enough to tell her that he couldn’t say anything at all.

Sansa bit her lip, debating whether or not she should say anything in front of Robb. He pulled the bag down the counter, away from Jon, and while the crinkling of paper filled the air, Sansa said, “I was thinking, after work tomorrow, and my appointment, I might commandeer your kitchen and bake lemon cakes. I could set a few aside for you to take into work with you, if you like?”

Jon nodded, smiling slowly. “That’d be really nice.” Sansa nodded, shifting on her feet. Jon’s smile faded slightly. “Are you all right?”

No, she could feel anxiety curling around her chest, and she didn’t know what to do as her heart refused to settle and her mind ran in circles around the idea of immaculate conception because she shouldn’t feel this way this late she was exhausted was this mania was she bipolar-

“I’m fine,” Sansa whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

And all the anxiety boiled down to Jon Snow. Really, it had to. She’d been just fine until Robb opened his fat mouth but they’d been talking about Jon, and it was Jon that had all her emotions tied up in a knot she couldn’t free.

Davos, his therapist, had asked. _You and Jon must be close, if he recommended this and you listened._

_He’s . . . Jon._

Thinking about it made her cheeks burn. There were so many ways to describe Jon. And she’d blanked on all of them.

Now, she knew exactly how she’d describe him. Loyal, kind, observant, intelligent, probably a great kisser. The last one she’d need to fact check.

“You’re completely spaced,” Jon said quietly, leaning closer to her, his worry evident enough in his voice alone.

“Ah, at least eat before you start going at each other,” Robb said. Sansa looked down at her bare feet, shaking her head until her hair hid her slightly. Jon stepped into her sightline, and his hand touched her chin softly, pulling her gaze up.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. Sansa nodded mutely. “Thank you for thinking about the lemon cakes.” He kissed her cheek, then stood on his toes to reach her forehead. Each place blazed as he looked up at her. Her hand found his and she squeezed lightly. He squeezed back.

“I’m trying to eat!” Robb protested. Jon pulled away, shoving Robb as he grabbed for a plate. “Hey!”

“I still owe you, Stark.”

“Yeah, the only thing you’ve picked up from my sister is the ability to make empty threats.”

Jon pushed him again. Sansa slid across the tile, planting herself between them, facing Jon.

“I’m hungry,” she lied. She hadn’t had much of an appetite all day, but it'd happened enough before that she figured once she started eating, she'd be perfectly capable of packing it away. Robb laughed behind her, and she reached back to hit him without looking.

“I’m going to have you begging-“

“Oh, kinky,” Sansa said. She shoved both men a little further apart, rummaged around for a couple of serving utensils while they sputtered, and found herself a plate.

They grumbled to each other lowly as she claimed her spot at the end of the couch. She ate quietly, trying to hear what needed to be said in such hushed tones. They agitated one other enough that she caught Jon hissing, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Then they went back to their whisper-argument.

Sansa sighed heavily enough that there was a brief pause. They both tried to get the last word, snapping and yowling like puppies.

“Before the food gets cold, boys.”

“Sans,” they both said as one.

Sansa didn’t look back at either, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment.

Jon sat down beside her, throwing his arm around her casually. She nestled closer to him with another sigh, picking at her lo mein.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. Sansa shrugged. He started to remove his arm, and she reached to stop him so fast, she nearly upended both their plates by accident. Jon chuckled, tucking into his food with the vigor of a man who’d spent two and a half hours at the gym.

“How’re Grenn and Edd?” Sansa asked, scooping up a mushroom with her fork. She took one from Jon’s plate, too. He hated them.

“I’m not going to kiss you if you keep eating those,” Jon said as Robb fell into the couch beside him.

“Maybe that’s why I’m eating them,” Sansa hummed. They all ate quietly for a time. Sansa felt more and more like she was eating rubber. She knew it tasted good, knew she loved this place, and still had to convince herself to swallow after chewing far too long. Sansa made to steal from Jon’s little pile of mushrooms, just once more, but he pulled his plate away.

“I never said you could have those, you know.”

“You hate mushrooms.”

“Remember when we decided I was going to stop letting you step all over me.”

“We never decided anything of the sort,” Sansa attempted to get at his mushroom pile again, only to be thwarted. “Jon.”

“Say please.”

The command, and that truly was what it was, sent heat rising through Sansa. First to her core, then her cheeks when she realized what those two stupid words had started in her. His dark gaze froze her in her seat. They were so, so different from the cold blue that used to watch her. Her mind wandered, and she really wished it hadn’t.

Robb cleared his throat, and the moment shattered. Sansa looked away from Jon, pulling away slightly lest he somehow divine the reaction he’d pulled from her body, the shame starting to consume her. She’d been through too much to have that sort of kink. Way too much. Didn’t her traitorous body know that?

“Jon,” Sansa muttered. He sighed and dumped the mushrooms on her plate. Robb found the TV remotes and threw one of his shows up. Sansa watched, alarmingly aware of the feel of the food she put in her mouth. Her skin continued to burn as she stopped eating to instead glare at her food. Jon frowned at her as she started to space out again.

“Sans, are you all right?” Robb asked. Jon pulled her plate out of her hands, setting it on the floor before pressing the back of his hand to her brow.

“I’m fine,” Sansa said, brushing Jon off. She got up, pausing for a moment at the head rush that greeted her.

“Water.”

“Water.”

Jon and Robb both got up, Robb vaulting the couch to get to the kitchen while Jon grabbed Sansa and guided her back to the couch. She scowled, “‘M fine, Jon.”

Robb handed her a glass of water, “You look ready to pass out or throw up.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she insisted. She drank greedily from the water, all but chugging the whole glass down. Robb and Jon looked at her like she was crazy.

“You’re pale as shit,” Jon touched her face again. “And burning up.”

“I’m-“ She swallowed. Oh, she should’ve drank the water slower. That was why they were looking at her like she was a looney.

She got up. Her feet pounded on cold wood floors as she dashed for the bathroom. She didn’t bother with the light, throwing up the toilet seat and throwing up her stomach.

Warmth hovered at her side, rough hands pulling her hair up and back. Jon knelt beside her, one hand rubbing at her back gently. When she stopped, he reached around her to flush the toilet.

She pressed her cheek against the cold of the porcelain bowl and shivered as that cold seeped through her bones. Jon pulled her back against his chest, sitting her in his lap.

“Please, tell me you’re not pregnant,” he whispered.

She touched his beard lightly, looking at him as best she could. “We haven’t ever slept together, remember? I couldn’t be.”

“I- I know, but someone else-“

“There’s no one else,” Sansa frowned. Gods, being bound to a stranger like that- Her stomach twisted and she pulled away from him again. There wasn’t much left, but she heaved regardless, spitting the taste of bile from her mouth. Her eyes burned.

“D’you want me to turn on the light?”

“No.” She gripped his wrist as he started to get up. He paused a moment, enough time that Sansa realized how hot his skin was beneath hers.

“Sans-“

“Just sit with me.” Her voice broke. Jon resumed his idle stroking of her back. Sansa heaved up nothing at all. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder when she finally leaned back. He pulled her hair away from her face and started braiding it carefully. She took a slow breath, trying to settle her stomach. “Can you- Can you get me some water?”

“Are you going to drink it slowly?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Jon shot away from her immediately, out of the bathroom without hesitation. Sansa shuddered in the absence of his warmth. She kept her stomach carefully in check, and he was back in no time at all. She rinsed her mouth several times over before drinking the smallest sip of water. “You should stay home from work tomorrow.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You might be,” Jon said awkwardly. Sansa lifted her head enough to glare at him. He only shrugged. “What.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, I just think it might be-“

“It’s not.”

“Sansa, you can’t know that-“

“I can.”

“Why can’t you just let me be worried about you?”

“Because you don’t know-”

“Then enlighten me, Sansa!”

Her stomach tightened, and she nervously hovered over the toilet bowl. Nothing happened. She took a few shaking breaths. Jon touched her hair gently, pulling back a few escaping strands. “If you’re not pregnant and you’re not sick-“

“Why can’t a woman be nauseous without being pregnant? Is that so crazy?!”

“It is if you’re not ill otherwise!”

“Is pregnancy an illness now!”

“That’s not the point and you know it!” Jon seethed. “Stop fucking distracting me!”

“Watch your fucking mouth when you’re speaking to me!”

“I’d much rather watch yours!”

Sansa opened her mouth to snap back, then realized what exactly it was he’d just said. She looked up at him, kneeling in front of a toilet, freezing and burning all at once. She shut her mouth, trying to catch up. “Wh- What did you just say?”

Jon’s chest heaved even as he shook his head, backing away from her slightly. Color burned in his cheeks, and in his stormy grey eyes, Sansa could’ve sworn heat burned into her. She did not look away from him as she took another sip of water. He did not look away from her.

Not much of an admission, if it was meant to be one. Jon was just awkward. He’d not only put his foot in his mouth, but attempted to shove it all the way down his throat. That was all.

Sansa could’ve convinced herself of it had he done anything but watch her, half in the dark, silent except for his almost labored breath.

A chill ran over her, gooseflesh prickling the skin all up and down her arms. Sansa shivered, pushing away from the toilet bowl and falling back onto her heels, rubbing her freezing arms with her freezing hands.

“Maybe I am sick,” she whispered.

Jon got up and turned on the light. Sansa hissed at the brightness of it, ducking her head and shading her eyes with a hand. Her hand felt cold against her forehead, nice. She sighed, leaning her head against the cabinet below the sink. Jon let a hand rest on her head as he shuffled around after something.

“Your ear,” he finally grunted. Sansa hummed, pulling her hair back. He pushed her head until it was tilted slightly. Plastic crinkled, then he pressed something into it. The thermometer. She’d gotten it for the boys for the last Feast of the Mother, mailed it almost a year ago. It chirped after a moment. Jon cursed. “One hundred point six. You need to call in.”

“Maybe I’ll sleep it off.”

“Are you fucking kidding-“

“Stop cursing at me,” Sansa said softly. Jon pulled the thermometer away, disposing of the plastic cap on it. He set it back in its place, then his hand fell to her hair once more. His fingers pushed lightly at her scalp.

“I just got a big case, otherwise I’d stay home with you,” he said. “There’s no point in going to work if you’re going to be sick and miserable.”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Sansa muttered.

“Sans, we spent the past two nights and most the weekend together,” Jon said. “It’ll be a miracle if I haven’t caught it yet already.”

“But your big case-“

“Hey, what happens happens,” Jon knelt on the floor next to her. Sansa sipped at her water again, staring at the floor. “You should take some ibuprofen, try to get your fever down. Or acetaminophen.”

“I just want to sleep,” Sansa murmured.

“You have to take care of yourself a little bit first,” Jon cupped her face in his hands, his lips pressing to her brow. He lingered there a moment before pulling away. “We should start by getting off the floor.”

Sansa groaned, “Do I have to?”

“I think we have some white rice left, you might want to try to eat a little in a minute or two,” Jon murmured, rising to his feet. He offered his hand. A concerned little knot sat between his brows. Sansa let him pull her up, then pressed a finger in that little dent. “What?”

“You’ll get wrinkles,” she muttered.

“I’ll call them my Sansa lines,” he smiled weakly. Even that was infectious. Sansa’s stomach flipped, but not with nausea.

Gods, what was he doing to her? Was he trying to put her through the full range of human emotions, or was he just being Jon?

The furrow returned in her silence, her finger still against his forehead. He touched her wrist lightly, scrunching his face and making it something more akin to boredom. She grinned at his attempt at placating her.

Jon licked his lips, a dart of his tongue that Sansa nearly missed. Nearly. He was very near to her. And he didn’t move away when Sansa leaned closer still. Sansa swallowed thickly.

The lingering taste of bile shook her to her senses. She cleared her throat, pivoting toward the sink. “‘M gonna brush my teeth.”

“Okay,” Jon sighed. He backed out of the bathroom, and she could hear him and Robb talking lowly. She hated it, humming to herself as she put toothpaste on her toothbrush. She coughed rather aggressively and had to spit a clump of phlegm (she hoped it was just phlegm) down the sink. She reached for her water and rinsed her mouth again. Then, she brushed her teeth.

Her gums were bleeding a little bit by the time she was satisfying, and she rinsed out her mouth again. Red swirled down the drain. She left the sink on for a minute, splashing water around the basin. She should bleach the whole bathroom. Wanted to.

“Sans,” Robb stuck his head in. She turned to look at him. “You should go lay down.”

“Lie down.”

“Sans.”

She nodded weakly, shivering as she wandered out into the living room. The door rattled for a moment before Theon entered. She jumped when Jon passed by, dumping a blanket over her shoulders.

Theon shook his head, shutting the door behind him. “I knew she was sick.”

“Yeah, ‘course you did,” Jon grumbled, tucking her into the blanket where she stood.

“I don’t want to be a burrito,” she muttered.

“Next time you go to the store, we need more ibuprofen,” Robb called. Sansa shuffled a little so she could see him. He gave Jon two little orange-y brown pills and her half-full water.

“All right,” Jon held both out to her, and she wiggled her hand free to take the pills. She sipped at the water for an additional moment before Jon took it from her, passing it to Theon. Jon tucked her back into the blanket and she pouted. “You make a cute burrito.”

“I’m going back to Arya’s,” Sansa said with a frown. She moved toward Jon’s room, where her things waited. “Better than being here.”

“No.”

Sansa paused, looking back at Robb. She swallowed nervously. Jon stepped between them, hands clenching into fists.

“What d’you mean _no?"_ Jon said tightly.

“If you get Arya sick while she’s supposed to be training, she’ll murder you in your sleep,” Theon said.

“Exactly,” said Robb.

Sansa frowned, “You _know_ Arya is staying at Gendry’s tonight.”

“But are you going to bleach her room and clean it within an inch of your life?” Theon asked. Jon frowned, looking between the two. Sansa groaned.

“We’ve all been exposed already,” said Robb.

“ _Exposed!_ I haven’t got the plague!”

Jon cut in before she could fully round on her brother, “Just stay the night. Please.”

“What if-“ Sansa sighed. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“Too little, too late,” Jon shifted forward the few steps between them. He touched her cheek lightly. “Just . . . Just stay.”

“Fine,” Sansa muttered. She lifted one trembling hand from the blankets, pointing at all of them in turn. “But you all need to shut it.”

“What’d I do?!” Theon demanded.

Sansa shrugged, turned on her heel, and shut Jon’s door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need y'all to know that I can spell acetaminophen right on the first try without autocorrect given me hints. I'm weirdly proud of it.


	14. End Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has thoughts, Robb has a date, and Sansa is both sick and not pregnant.

Jon had a beer as he waited for some sort of sign of life from Sansa. The lights in his room stayed on, letting a band of gold out from under the door. That door stayed shut, save when she darted to the bathroom. Jon listened carefully, but she was only brushing her teeth. Again. He didn’t think he could blame her, even as he listened for the sounds of more vomiting. None came. She ran back into his room and shut the door quietly. There had been no sound since. Robb wished him luck and went to hide in his room, Theon following suit.

He’d never been quite so disgusted with himself. Robb had mentioned Sansa’s near panic attack about the pregnancy joke (really, how dare Robb even try with that shit?) and he’d found himself ready to rip off both Robb’s head and whoever else it was that had dared touch Sansa. Even though he knew there wasn’t anyone. He shouldn’t have had to ask her at all. And he’d been ever so pleased when she’d said there was no one else, despite the fact that she’d been tossing cookies into the toilet at the time.

And he’d gone and shoved his foot in his mouth while arguing with her. He’d argued with her while she was on the floor half-dead, paler than he’d ever seen her. No wonder her mother thought him a manner-less beast.

“Fuck,” Jon said, setting the beer bottle on the counter he was leaned against to push at his temples. He should go check on her, make sure what he’d said wasn’t a problem.

But what if she’d locked the door behind her? It was the first weeknight that she’d stayed, if a weeknight was the night preceding a workday. Jon wasn’t sure why she had decided to stay; she’d only muttered, “We should. We would by now.”

Some part of him vainly hoped that she just wanted to be with him.

Robb emerged from his room, dressed nicely, if Jon was quite honest. He had to hide a smile with another large pull at his beer. “You, uh, iron your shirt there?”

Robb looked down at himself, tousling his hair anxiously. “Uh, yeah.”

Jon pulled his phone over. “Can I-“

“No.”

Jon rolled his eyes. He was still _slightly_ hung up on Robb accusing him of getting Sansa pregnant because he was better at hiding condoms than Theon was at looking for them. Seriously, it wasn’t that hard. The box was in his sock drawer, for the gods’ sakes, what _idiot_ wouldn’t think to look there? Confronting Sansa about it when it was clearly an issue Robb had with Jon was just stupid to boot. He’d didn’t like much of any piece of the whole situation, honestly. Theon should know enough to buy his own damn condoms. He should know that a text to Jon would garner better results than searching Jon’s room with a raging hard-on. Robb should know that a search led by said hard-on shouldn’t be indicative of the fact that Jon had no condoms. Jon was an _adult_. Of course, he had bloody condoms.

“Azor Ahai, Jon, I said I was sorry,” Robb said quietly, rolling his shoulders and glancing at his phone. Jon clenched his jaw.

“You keep pushing her too far. She still needs time,” Jon said. “I don’t give a damn that you think I’d somehow coerce her into letting me not-“

“I try _so_ hard not to think about those things,” Robb muttered darkly. “That is my _sister_ and if my mother knew _half_ of what I did about . . . She made him _vanish_ , Jon. _Vanish._ I don’t . . . want that. For you.”

“Robb, I’m not going to do anything worth making me vanish,” Jon said softly, even though a shudder tugged at his spine. Ms. Catelyn was a fearsome she-beast when it came to her daughters, Sansa especially. Jon doubted she’d take well to _any_ part of Jon coming near Sansa, no matter what Sansa had to say about it. “Really don’t need a dramatic re-enactment of the old Targaryen-Stark wars.”

“We’re _distantly_ related to the Old Starks, Mister Direct Descendent of Ancient Kings,” Robb scoffed. Jon rolled his eyes, clenching his teeth. “Sorry.” Robb fidgeted with his clothes again. “Do I look decent?”

“Sansa!” Jon called. “Robb’s got a date, come see if he’s presentable!”

“I’m sick, you numpty!”

Robb groaned, “Sansa, please!”

The door to his room opened, and Sansa stuck her head out. Dozens of little braids crossed her hair, pulling it this way and that, all building to a sort of crown looking thing. Her blanket was folded around her like a cape, leaving her arms free.

“He hasn’t had a date since last winter,” Jon said.

“That’s not true,” Robb scowled, his face deeply red. He came over to shove Jon. Jon just laughed.

“Show Sans.”

Robb grumbled under his breath but moved to face Sansa. She came out of Jon’s room, leaning against the doorway as she so often did. Jon’s eyes flicked down her form as she looked her brother over. The only hint as to her activities were the numerous braids and a slight pink tinge high in her cheeks, which was better than the deathly paleness she’d had when she started hiding. Jon recorded Robb as Sansa had him turn this way and that. He pulled his phone down before either could see, adding an assortment of stickers before saving the video and sending it to Theon, Arya, and Bran.

“Undo the top two buttons,” Sansa said. Robb complied. “You only really need to do the top one up if you’re wearing a tie. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Robb muttered, grabbing his keys from the bowl in the kitchen.

“Lucky girl,” Jon shook his head. “Half the world’s population will go to bed crying tonight because of this date.”

“Shut up.”

“Include yourself in that, Jon?” Sansa clicked her tongue. “I’m starting to think you settled for me when Robb never showed interest.”

“I show interest all the time!” Robb protested, leaning closer to Jon. Jon flinched as Robb kissed his cheek. “Don’t I?”

“All right, fuck off,” Jon shoved him away. “Don’t want to be late, do you?”

“Have fun, Robb,” Sansa said.

“But not too much fun,” Jon said. Robb audibly groaned.

“Gods, I need to tell Marg. She’ll be mourning all week,” Sansa swayed a little, hugging her arms to her chest. Robb cleared his throat, grabbing a jacket. “Remember to let your date talk.”

“I know, I know,” Robb hurried for the door.

Jon smiled, “Remember: she goes down on you-“

“I go down on her, yeah, you can stop saying that now that you’re dating my little sister!” Robb slammed the door behind him.

Jon caught Sansa’s eye. She was halfway between staring and scowling at him. Her brow furrowed as he met her gaze, her lips pouting. Jon shrugged one shoulder, standing up and going to the fridge. He pulled out the carton of white rice and grabbed a clean plate, making a ring before flicking some water from the sink onto it and shoving it in the microwave.

When he turned back to look at her, she’d crossed the apartment and stood right behind him, making him jump halfway to the moon.

“You never told me he had a date.”

“I forgot,” he said softly. “Are you feeling any better, love?”

“Nuh-uh,” she shifted closer, dropping her head against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Whose’a date?”

“He never said, just that she was cute,” Jon sighed as she nuzzled closer. “You need to go to bed.”

“Only if you come with,” Sansa murmured.

“I can sleep on the couch if you need-“

“No!” Sansa wrapped her arms around him. He made a point to try and figure out if she was too warm. He didn’t notice anything, so hopefully her fever had gone down. “I’d rather be a blanket burrito.”

“Why don’t you like that?”

“Can’t move,” Sansa mumbled. “Can’t escape.”

 _Escape what?_ He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He looked back at the microwave, then closed the carton of rice and put it back in the fridge.

The microwave beeped. He grabbed a fork and took the plate out, handing both to her. “Eat.”

Sansa blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I told you earlier you should eat,” Jon said. “I meant it. Just a little. _Slowly_.”

Sansa turned away from him, falling into the couch. Jon leaned back against the counter, picking at the label on his beer. He finished it before Sansa finished the rice. He rinsed out the bottle and put it down in their returnables bin.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve . . . not been having a very good night.”

“I know,” Jon found himself by the couch rather quickly. Sansa stared at her mostly empty plate. He reached down to take her free hand, lacing their fingers together. He leaned against the back of the couch. “Look at me.”

Sansa did, her jaw clenched. Jon lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jon shook his head. “I don’t think anyone expects you to be . . . You know. Perfect.”

“You do.”

“Stop holding me to things I said drunk,” Jon whispered. Sansa smiled through a little laugh.

She squeezed his hand, looking away from him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t,” Jon agreed. He took her plate. “You deserve better.”

He rinsed off the plate and dumped the fork in the soapy utensil bowl. They didn’t have a working dishwasher, and Jon didn’t feel like cleaning. He’d do it tomorrow.

She snuck up on him again, beside him when he turned to grab a hand towel. He tried to hide his jump, but Sansa didn’t seem to notice. He cleaned off his hands, silent as she dropped her head against his shoulder.

“I’m so tired, Jon.”

“Let’s go to bed, then,” Jon murmured.

“What did Mormont want?”

Jon sighed. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. “I have to examine and categorize a couple hundred pieces of evidence.”

“Will you still be able to come to lunch?”

“Probably not until Thursday or so.” Jon said. “Did you call off for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Sansa hummed. “Wait, Thursday? That bad?”

“Yeah,” Jon tilted his head back against hers. “Plus, we have an event coming up.”

“An event?”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Black tie sort of thing. Mormont would like to meet you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh. Right. When is that?”

“‘Bout a month from now.”

Sansa was quiet a moment. “That’s after the Feast of the Mother.”

The Feast was all of two weeks away, a thought more than enough to spin him into a panic. Gods, he needed gifts for all the Starks and Sam and Gilly and the baby and the guys at work—shit, how did it always sneak up on him?! Without school to give him some kind of schedule, he was hopeless. Jon frowned. “Uh, yeah.”

“I thought- well, I didn’t,” Sansa straightened, stepping away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I thought that if you came home, and Mum saw that I was all right . . . Well, I’d let you get back to your life.”

Jon tried to keep the ground from falling out from under him. “I thought you didn’t have a way to end this.”

_That hadn’t been a request for you to figure it out._

“I just thought,” Sansa said slowly. “You would have an excuse for your side of . . . and that if we had a fight on the last day of the feast, that Robb would blame Mum instead of you. And let’s be honest, I doubt she’ll take to the idea of us dating kindly.”

“Can’t argue that,” Jon said, flinching at the very notion of her mother’s ice-cold eyes looking him not as a stray collected by her willful son, but a man dating her precious daughter. And he hadn’t thought it _could_ get worse. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Sansa smiled weakly over her shoulder. Her eyes fell to the floor. “You don’t want to be stuck with me forever.”

“Wouldn’t be that bad,” Jon said. Sansa eyes lifted immediately. He held her gaze steadily. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her with him. She leaned her head down against his arm while they walked. Perhaps her practicality was not without drawbacks. Jon cursed himself for even thinking it. Why was she making him so blasted hopeful?

He left her to change in his room while he went to brush his teeth.

He splashed some water over his face and glared at his reflection. Sometimes, under this sort of fluorescent lighting, he thought he saw specks of violet in his eyes. This was one of those times. He didn’t like it. All it did was prove the point—he’d only ever be abandoned.

And with the Feast of the Mother coming up, it was almost time for his annual Targaryen check-up. Though, he hadn’t been badgered by anyone about the holiday yet, which hopefully meant his presence wasn’t expected. Feast of the Mother was the worst one. They had a fucking _gala_ every year _._ He wished to slam his face through the sink.

“Stop that,” he grumbled at himself. He took a deep breath and dug under the sink until he found the toilet cleaner and some general kitchen and bathroom sanitizer. He cleaned the toilet thoroughly, then the sink. He washed his hands twice trying to get the chemical stink off him.

His reflection still looked broken.

“You fucking knew this would happen. This is the plan, you idiot.”

He left the bathroom without answering himself. Sansa danced past him to brush her teeth again. She couldn’t sleep without the taste of toothpaste in her mouth. Jon shouldn’t know that. He shouldn’t care. But he did, and maybe he was the only one.

He changed into flannel pajama bottoms and threw off his shirt. He didn’t care to replace it. He never slept with a shirt on before Sansa started spending time in his bed.

Jon flopped onto his bed, digging his hands through his hair.

How did one keep a woman who didn’t want to be kept?

He’d been pondering the very idea since he met Ygritte. It wasn’t fair, damn it all, it wasn’t fair.

_I know you, I want you, I love you._

Jon pulled at his hair. She’d done that before. He wished she’d do it again, a hundred times more, in dozens of other circumstances.

_Why am I panicking?_

Because there was an end now. And there hadn’t been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all see all that unofficial AO3 nonsense? Boy, what a way to exhaust an entire people in the course of a single day
> 
> Anyhow, poor old Jonny boy has a big storm coming. In terms of plans, we've got 1) sick Sansa, 2) fuck are we going to have to go south for the holiday? 3) Whelp, guess we're in King's Landing 4) the fuck is paparazzi / le gala  
> So, yeah, there's an end, but she ain't gone be here soon


	15. Cyclical Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is mad so Sansa is mad so Jon is mad so Sansa is mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having those seasonal mental issues and literally forgot I even posted the last chapter. Wild shit fam. Anyway, I edited this one for that sweet sweet angst™, you're welcome.

“What has she eaten today?”

Sansa lifted her head from the couch, blinking wearily at the door. “We’re atta ‘buprof’n!” Jon kept his eyes on Theon, who had something in a pot on the stove.

Jon had been weird since they’d gone to bed the night before. Sansa knew it was the Feast of the Mother thing, knew she’d probably surprised him. But _he’d_ been the one asking for an out. _He_ was the one who said they should stop, who was worried about Robb. _He_ was the one who wouldn’t look at her. If he had said no, offered a different way . . . She shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve brought it up when a fever wasn’t eating at her brain. He’d already whispered his apologies for arguing with her while she was sitting on the bathroom floor, he- he would’ve argued with her if she was well. Wouldn’t he have?

_What do you want?_ Arya’s annoying little voice asked. Sansa just scowled at it, watching Jon.

“Just fell asleep,” Theon said quietly.

“I’ve been woke up,” Sansa grumbled, wiggling until she was slightly more upright. Jon set his briefcase down and came to sit on the edge of the couch, though he didn’t meet her gaze, fiddling with her blanket instead. She tried again, “We’re out of ibuprofen.”

“Sansa, I told you, I got more,” Theon called.

“They don’t look the same!” Sansa raised the bottle from the floor beside her, shaking it at Jon. His eyes jumped to hers for a heartbeat before falling on the bottle. Sansa frowned, squinting at the ingredients list. “Is it the same?”

Jon pulled his glasses from his pocket and took the bottle. Sansa nibbled at her chapped lips. He looked so damn good with the glasses on. It wasn’t fair. He was mad at her and she was mad at him for being mad at her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about his stupid perfect face with those stupid gorgeous glasses. She should get him to read things to her more often. Sometime in the next two weeks she’d given herself. Jon’s voice was low and sure. “They’re the brand name gel-caps, love. It’s still ibuprofen.”

“I told you!” Theon cried triumphantly.

“No, you said it was Advil!”

“Advil _is_ ibuprofen!”

“Advil is Advil!”

“It’s ibu-fucking-profen!”

“Theon!” Jon growled, glaring over his shoulder. Sansa coughed before she could say any more, turning away from Jon and burying her head in her elbow. Jon fled, bottle still in hand, “D’you get cold and flu medicine, too?”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t take that either,” Theon said flatly.

“Last time Robb was sick-“

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You gave him laxatives!”

“On _accident!”_ Theon said loudly.

“You betrayed him,” Sansa cried. Theon threw a box at Jon, who caught it easily with one hand and examined it. Sansa stared openly. Those damn glasses. He had no business— _no business_ —looking that good when he was mad at her so she was mad at him. Theon clunked around in the kitchen after dinnerware.

“Well, Theon didn’t betray _you_ ,” said Jon, pulling the package open. “Have you thrown up again?”

“No.”

“Been coughing a lot?”

“It’s been my Theon _bullshit_ detector-“

“So?”

“She’s been coughing all day and rude enough that I’m starting to regret calling off myself,” Theon said. Jon turned and glared at him until Theon noticed. Sansa coughed again. “Sorry.”

Jon grabbed her a new glass of water from the kitchen and fought some of the cold medicine out of the packaging. He handed her two orange gel-caps, dropping them into her palms so he wouldn’t touch her. She clenched her jaw tightly, taking the water when he gave it to her. “Four hours from now, you should take the blue ones.”

“What’s the difference?” Sansa asked suspiciously.

“NyQuil and DayQuil, love,” Jon smiled weakly, meeting her eyes fully. She held them as long as she could, but she was already burning without the heat of his gaze on her. He lurched away from her for a moment, then touched her shoulder and leaned closer again. He kissed her forehead gently. “The blue ones will knock you out.”

“Arya can do it faster,” Sansa grumbled, taking the pills regardless. He smoothed some of her hair out of her face. Her eyes darted over his shoulder to Theon, but he wasn’t paying attention. When he started pulling away, she blurted, “Why do you always take your glasses off when you get home?”

“I can see just fine-“

“The text size on your phone is absurdly large,” Sansa said. Jon leveled a glare at her and tapped her glass of water twice. She drank more. “You’re also absurdly hot with them on.”

“I’ve got chicken noodle soup with all the celery picked out,” Theon said loudly. Jon helped Sansa sit up properly and turn. She yelped when her feet touched the cold floor, tucking them back into the blankets carefully before trying again. Theon passed her a bowl and a spoon. She looked down at it. “I added some water so it wouldn’t be as salty, I think it’s fine.”

Sansa blew on the first spoonful a few times before trying it. “It’s good.”

Theon grinned, heading back to the stovetop. “If you need any more, let me know.”

He’d managed to warm it up enough that it was definitely hot, but not so hot that she felt like dumping ice cubes in it and waiting. She glanced at Jon and started eating in earnest. “How was work?”

He cleared his throat for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Awful.”

“Really? How come?”

“Edd and I had lunch in one of the conference rooms going over all the evidence. One of the police reports,” Jon shrugged. “Mormont came in to check on us, and Edd took that exact moment to ask if you were all right without me coming to get you for lunch.”

“Were you?” Sansa asked. Jon frowned at her. “Were you okay without me?”

“I managed,” Jon shrugged. She frowned for a moment before returning focus to her soup. _Managed_. He probably hadn’t missed her at all. “Except Mormont, all serious like, said ‘Sansa?’ So, I said, ‘Yeah, my girlfriend,’ and started wondering why he didn’t know your name. Could’ve sworn I’ve mentioned you to him before,” Jon said. “He comes back with ‘Does Ned know?’”

“Ned,” Sansa repeated dully, spoon falling into her bowl. “ _My dad_ Ned? _Ned Stark_ Ned?”

“They worked together before Mormont became a defender,” said Jon. “I think he’s going to rip my spine out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The look on his face when I chased him through our offices and asked him not to tell your dad,” Jon said plainly. “You see, he thought my girlfriend and Sansa, my best friend’s hot sister, were two different people.”

“They’re not,” said Sansa. “They’re just _me_. Is he gonna tell Dad?”

“You haven’t told your parents?!” Theon exclaimed, glaring at her across the apartment. Sansa ducked her head, eating her soup instead of answering. “It’s been months!”

“Right, ‘cause I’m sure Ms. Catelyn would love to hear about how this all started with Sansa drunk in my bed!” Jon said. Sansa flinched at the very thought. She’d be getting a lecture for every Feast until she died of shame.

“Oh, for the love of- we _all_ know it started long before _that!_ ” Theon exclaimed. “Fuck’s sake, _she_ knows it better than- she wouldn’t have given you the lecture-“

“Theon,” Jon growled. Sansa looked up from her soup. Jon was red into his ears, though the way his jaw had clenched read more as embarrassment than anger to her. She didn’t know why exactly. She would’ve grabbed his hand, but he was mad at her.

“Is Robb still out?” Jon asked. Theon nodded. “Did he come back this morning?”

“Not that either of us noticed.”

Jon pulled out his phone. “He hasn’t texted either of you?”

“Me,” said Sansa, drawing her phone from the blankets. She gave it to Jon and kept eating her soup. The carrots were nice.

“Azor Ahai, you’d think he wants to give you an ankle tracker for the Feast,” Jon swiped through their conversation. Sansa chased a cube of chicken around. “I’m going to beat the shit out of him if he keeps this up.”

Was Jon mad at her, or was he mad at everything?

“Jon,” Sansa said. “He was worried.”

“That doesn’t mean he takes all your energy to manage when you should be resting,” Jon passed her phone back. The messages had piled up quickly, asking her how she was, and did he need to take off work, and yeah, Theon was fine and all, but didn’t she need _him,_ and wow how could she say that, and why won’t she answer him.

Sansa put the bowl to her lips and drank the rest of it. “He’s just worried.”

“He’s codependent,” Jon grumbled, taking the bowl from her. She watched him get up and walk to the kitchen. Sansa coughed, holding her elbow over her mouth. She rubbed at her throat when she was done.

“And you’re not?” Theon scoffed.

“How many times did I text you today, Sans? Twice?” said Jon. Sansa shrugged. He was mad at her, but maybe he was also mad at everything. “Figured you could take care of her, Theon, which . . . Thanks, by the way.”

“Wasn’t so bad.”

Sansa’s phone started buzzing. She held up a hand at the boys before they could get any more bro-y and answered. “Hey.”

“Oh, gods, you sound awful,” Arya said shortly. “Sick or crying? You’d better not be crying, I’ll kill Jon-“

“Arya, I’m sick,” she croaked. And, even though Jon was definitely mad at her, she added, “Please don’t kill my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to come over. Lift your spirits. Bring you the good cough drops.”

Sansa sighed, “What’s Marg doing now?”

“Marathon sex,” said Arya. “I didn’t even catch a glimpse at the dude, she’s never snuck someone in so well before.”

“Then how do you know there’s a guy and marathon sex happening?” Sansa asked.

“Well, the noises she’s making?”

“She could be with a girl,” Sansa pointed out.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s a guy’s voice at the least,” Arya said. “So, I’m coming over. Theon said he had soup, do you need anything else?”

“Can’t you go to Gendry’s place?”

“I’m temporarily banned.”

Sansa sighed, “What’d you do?”

“We got caught on the couch this morning,” said Arya. Sansa couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled out of her. “Listen, his roommates weren’t supposed to be awake for like an hour-“

“It’s fine, I promise I won’t tell Mum,” Sansa said. She pulled the phone away from her ear, breaking into Jon and Theon’s quiet conversation. “Can Arya come over for a little bit?”

“Yeah,” Jon shrugged, “Long as you’re okay with it.”

“Um, reminder that _we_ are the ones who pay rent,” Theon said. Sansa watched him, pouting a little. “I don’t have a problem with it, though. Just . . . You have to ask.”

“I did,” Sansa said, raising an eyebrow. Theon scowled at her, earning him a punch in the shoulder from Jon. She readjusted her blanket, then lifted the phone back to her ear. “You’re clear.”

“Sweet. D’you need anything? Like _anything?_ ”

“Maybe some Gatorade?”

“Done. I’ll text Jon just to be sure.”

“Okay.” Sansa let her hang up and dropped her phone into her lap. She twisted and laid back down on the couch with a groan.

“Drink your water,” Jon called.

“I’m fine,” Sansa answered sharply. “Soup is water.”

“You need to sleep,” Theon said.

“All I’ve done is sleep,” Sansa frowned. Theon scoffed. “ _What?_ ”

“You coughed through three movies and flatly refused to sleep at any point because you were always ‘just getting to the good part,’” Theon snapped, clearly more for Jon’s gain than hers as she nestled further into the couch with a snort. “You only passed out when I unplugged the TV ‘cause you wouldn’t get up.”

“Sounds like you’re going to bed,” said Jon, wandering back over.

“Make me,” Sansa coughed again. She was hardly recovering when she noticed him passing his wallet, keys, phone, and glasses to Theon.

“Watch me.”

“No, no, no, no, no- _Jon_ -“

He scooped her up off the couch, carrying her and her blanket across the apartment. She grumbled but did not struggle, muttering to herself even as he laid her ever so carefully on his bed. She glared at him up. He left her there, and she was so absolutely sure he was about to leave and shut the door behind him that she had to speak, sitting up in the middle of his bed.

“Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not,” he said shortly, shutting the door but staying in the room. Sansa scowled at him.

“Yes, you _are_ ,” she insisted. “I know better than that.”

Jon cut his eyes at her, loosening his tie before pulling it off. He folded it up and put it back with the others, then shrugged out of his suit jacket. “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”

“Because you are.”

“I’d like to hear the evidence,” he said coolly.

“You’re talking to me _like that_ ,” Sansa all but spat. “What other evidence do I need?”

“What other evidence do you have?” He unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and carefully replacing it back on its hangar. Sansa glared at his chest, bare but for a plain white tank top. Then, he shed that, too, reaching into his drawer for a t-shirt. It looked positively ridiculous with his dress pants. “Sans?”

“You won’t look at me,” Sansa’s voice broke, but she coughed immediately, hopefully hiding it. “And you’re being _mean_ -“

“Sans.” He’d caught her, and the soft look in his eye was far worse than the coldness. Tears welled in her eyes instantly, and he came to her, sitting next to her on the bed, dragging her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, I-“

“Yes, you _are_ ,” she whispered. “I thought you _wanted_ to be done, I thought you- You didn’t know what-“ She ripped away from him to cough, her eyes watering even more. He pulled back hastily, looking half ready to stand up again. She went back to glaring at him. “And- And maybe I’m mad at you because you- you can’t confuse me and then get mad at me for it.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he murmured. “But I _promise,_ I’m not mad at you.”

“Don’t do that-“

“I’m mad at me, too, Sans,” he said, touching her cheek lightly. She frowned at him.

“What?”

“I’m angry with myself,” Jon said, smiling weakly. “I am a lot of the time. And- But I confused you, and I yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have done either. I shouldn’t- You never should’ve noticed something was wrong at all-“

“Jon,” she shook her head. “You can’t just hide that from me.”

“I know that, having tried and failed to,” Jon said wryly. “I _did_ ask you if you had a way to . . . end all this. I just . . . I guess I forgot, it was stupid of me, but I did. I guess I just . . . I’m not ready for us to be over.”

“Jon.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m going to the gym, it’ll help. It always does.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Sans-“

“You don’t get to act like I’m so- so heartless,” Sansa said. “I don’t care what Robb or Marg or Arya thinks of it, if we stop pretending . . . that’s _all_ that happens. We don’t go on fake dates and you don’t have to tell your boss that . . . But I’ll not going to drop you, Jon Snow, I’m not going to _leave you_. You’re my friend. And I’m not letting- letting all this ruin that.”

“Sansa,” Jon breathed, closer somehow, his eyes shining. For a second, he looked like he might kiss her, and Sansa couldn’t help but hope he would, diseased as she was.

“I’m not leaving you,” she said again, hoping he would believe her. “I can’t- I can’t just spend all this time with you and then cut you out, I’m not built like that-“

“I know,” he said. “I know, gods, Sansa, I could never think you heartless. It wasn’t that. It’d never be that.”

“I’ve known you as long as I can remember,” Sansa whispered, glaring at him. “Us . . . _We_ don’t end. You’re stuck with me.”

“Sounds good to me,” he smiled. He brushed some hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Then her body staunchly refused to glare at all. Especially when he slid an arm around her waist carefully. He asked lowly, “Theon wasn’t all that bad, was he?”

“Theon was great,” Sansa mumbled. She leaned into him without thinking much about it. “Wish it’d been you, though.”

“I can’t,” Jon said. “I’d love to, but work right now . . . It’s important.”

“How important?”

Jon glanced at his door before lowering his voice. “It’s a twelve-year-old boy who shot his uncle for touching his nine-year-old sister. They want him tried as an adult, want him spending life in jail. He was defending his sister.”

Sansa shuddered. “That’s way more important than me.”

“Sans-“

“I really mean-“ Sansa pulled away to cough. When she tried to speak again, her voice failed her. She cleared her throat and rasped. “I mean it, Jon. I know there are more important things than me . . .”

“Not very many,” Jon murmured. “Not to me.”

He touched her chin lightly, leaning close to her. “I- I know.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jon said. Sansa’s heart thundered in her chest as she leaned into Jon’s touch carefully. She reached up to hold his wrist gently. “Sans.”

“I’m really sick,” Sansa said. “And miserable. But you make me not miserable.”

“You make me not miserable, too,” Jon smiled a little. “You make me think things might turn out all right in the end after all.”

“That’s a horribly romantic thing to say to a disgustingly sick woman,” Sansa hummed.

“You’re cute even when you’re sick, love,” Jon’s smiled broadened.

“Jon?”

“What?”

“Is it bad that I forget this is all fake sometimes?” She whispered. Jon blinked, his smile sliding right off his face. She coughed, using it as an excuse to fall on her side, turning away from him. “F-Forget I said anything. I’m . . . I’m just sick, and we were- It’s nothing.”

“Sansa-“

“Just- go away,” Sansa muttered.

“Sans, I-“

“I don’t need to hear what a stupid, naïve little girl I am-“

“I wasn’t going to-“

“Leave me-“ Sansa lifted her head to cough for a long moment, squeezing her eyes shut. She knew he hadn’t moved regardless. “Just forget it.”

“Sans, it’s not all-“

“Weren’t you going to go to the gym?” Sansa bit out. She hated the words immediately, clenching her fists and trying to bury herself in Jon’s bed all at once. Tears burned against her face, and she pressed her face into his pillows. She heard him shuffle about, getting his things more than likely.

“I forget, too,” he said, ever so softly.

The door shut before she could will herself to look at him, and she knew exactly what he meant about being mad at himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's don't murder your local fanfic author day already huh wow time flies


	16. Stupid Is as Stupid Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gains some new head trauma

“Stupid,” Jon muttered, striking the bag again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

A connection for every utterance. His headphones blasted nonsense into his ears, and the blows fell into rhythm with it. Jon could hardly keep his arms up anymore, but the combinations continued. He kicked the bag a few times, growling at the feel of his bare skin connecting.

He’d let Arya in and fled like the fuck-up he was. Barely given the younger Stark any more than a high five before tucking his tail between his legs and running.

First, he accidentally revealed to his boss that the woman he supposedly fucked drunk and subsequently began dating was the very daughter of one of his closest former coworkers, a daughter perpetually three years old with braided pigtails in his mind.

Then, he’d gone home to find her loopy and fevered, Theon woefully incapable of coercing her to better health despite his moderately appreciated attempts at trying, and Robb gone all day with the nerve to demand hourly check-ins from Sansa.

And he’d gone and fucked it all up even worse, somehow, because a line had blurred and refused to un-blur, and she was the daftest idiot in the world to not see what evidently everyone else could: he was in love with her. He wasn’t supposed to be, but he was. He loved her.

He didn’t just _forget_ it was all fake. It _wasn’t_ fake. Not for him, not anymore, maybe not ever.

But there was no way in Seven Hells she felt the same. No way she’d give him a chance if he was forthcoming with his feelings, no chance if he tried to hide them and lie.

It was over in two weeks. Two weeks, and she’d stop sleeping in his bed, stop wearing his old t-shirts, stop putting her feet in his lap while they sat on the couch.

Was it really so hard a thing to say? Three little words, and it’d all be over with. She’d reject him, it’d crumble apart before him, it’d be over. No more drawing it out.

No, he should let her give what she felt like, let her kindness stretch on just a little longer. He couldn’t cut himself off—he was an addict and she his fix.

No. Better a clean break.

Better a slow end.

Jon slipped, his kick hitting nothing, twisting him down onto his back. His head smacked through the mat. He blinked and people were standing over him, talking as though from miles away. The ceiling fan turned slowly in the same circle; the fluorescent lights hummed. He blinked again.

“Are you all right?”

“‘M fine,” Jon groaned. Several hands tugged on his arms, helping him to sit up. Jon rubbed the back of his head gently. “Just slipped.”

One person went to get him a water, another stayed to wave his finger in front of Jon’s face, a third asked if he needed to call someone.

Eventually, one of the personal trainers stopped to help. Jon wished they’d all go away, but after the general consensus was that no, he didn’t have a concussion and no, there was no real reason for him to have slipped at all, there seemed to be a number of them convinced something else must be wrong with him.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t need us to call someone?” asked the trainer.

“I walked, I don’t live far,” said Jon. “I’m just going to stretch and shower. If I don’t feel well by then, I’ll call my roommate.”

His currently AWOL roommate.

It took five more minutes for him to convince them. He stretched, fully aware of the eyes on him, before grabbing his water bottle and heading for the locker rooms. A quick shower, a change into fresh clothes. He waved at the receptionist as he left, tying wet curls up into a bun to keep them off his shoulders.

It was alarmingly chilly outside. Fall was coming faster than usual. As though the world simply could not wait to return to winter. Jon set a brisk pace back to the apartment complex. The sun had just barely set when he flashed his key fob at the front door and headed inside. He took the stairs rather than the elevator.

Theon and Arya were playing that weird little game of theirs where they circled one another and threw a racquetball back and forth, bouncing it once off the floor. Jon rolled his eyes at them, glancing around for Sansa. He couldn’t see her; she must’ve been in his room. He shut the door quietly.

Arya caught the ball, and she and Theon faced him, arms crossed over their chests.

Shit.

“What did you do to Sansa?” Theon demanded.

“I- nothing!”

“You did something,” said Arya, in that freakishly calm way. Jon shuddered under her intense but detached glare. “What was it?”

“She told me to leave her alone,” Jon pulled his bag further up his shoulder. “I thought she needed space.”

“Oh, for the love of-“ Arya pointed at his closed bedroom door and hissed at him. “It’s _Sansa_. Read between the fucking lines.”

“Read between _what_ lines?!” Jon answered. “She asked me to go. I’m not going to just _assume_ I know what she wants better than she does herself.”

Arya’s cross face remained even as she said, “Respectful bastard.”

“She’s sick, Jon,” Theon said irately. “She’s been telling me to piss off all day. I didn’t tuck tail and run.”

Jon’s face warmed under the force of Theon’s scowl. But Theon had no right—none at all—to lecture _him_ about running when Sansa needed them. “Well, then, I guess you win her hand, under the rules of the Pact. I can’t tell the difference between her being sick and complaining and her having a legitimate reason to want some solitude.”

“Don’t make this about that stupid-“

Jon rolled his eyes, marching for the relative safety of his room. Hopefully, Sansa was asleep and he’d be able to slip into bed beside her and fuck around on his phone until sleep claimed him.

Unfortunately, the light was on, and the odds that Sansa had managed to fall asleep with the light on were slim to none.

He was halfway through the doorway when Arya beamed him in the back of the head with the racquetball.

He just sort of . . . Collapsed.

Like she’d pushed a button to deactivate him. He could barely throw up his arms to catch himself before he was falling into the floor. His fingers tingled oddly, and his toes. He was pretty sure she’d hit the same spot he’d already hit on the floor at the gym.

The floor was really cold.

“Jon?” He groaned in answer, not yet feeling up to moving. His head pounded enough as it was. “Jon?” Her hands were cold where she touched him. “ _Arya, what did you do?!_ ”

She shouldn’t have been cold. She was supposed to be in the blanket burrito. The blanket burrito was warm. Jon lifted his head to see her kneeling beside him. She looked scared. He’d seen her scared before.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he muttered.

“Azor Ahai, _Arya!_ ” She screeched, her hands sliding around Jon. He twisted to sit next to her, raising a hand to touch the pounding in the back of his head.

“It’s a racquetball!” Arya said shrilly. “I didn’t _do_ anything!”

Jon groaned at the bump under his fingers. “I slipped and hit my head at the gym.”

Arya went deathly still. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m fine,” Jon said, though he wasn’t exactly sure that he was. The initial shock of the fall had worn off. He could already feel his cheeks warming at what he’d just said to Sansa. He really was an idiot sometimes.

“You’re _not_ fine, you fell over,” said Sansa. She turned away to cough for a long moment, one hand falling to grip his wrist tightly. “You should- I’ll drive you to hospital-“ She had to stop, pulling away from him to wiggle across the floor until she got the cough drops.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jon shook his head. He kicked the door shut to get Theon’s smug face out of sight and crawled into the bed. He reached down and helped Sansa up after him. She curled into his chest, sucking quietly on the cough drop.

“I feel like shit.”

“I know.”

“No, because . . . I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry,” she said softly. She rolled off him and coughed twice. Then, she rolled back with a groan. “You should’ve stayed.”

“You asked me to leave,” Jon reminded her. She traced a finger up and down his chest, frowning. He caught her hand, waiting until she met his eyes. “If you want me to stay, you just have to tell me. But if you ask me to leave, I’ll go. I can’t read your mind. I don’t know what you want unless you tell me, Sans.”

“What if _I_ don’t know what I want?” She whispered. Jon slipped his fingers between hers.

“Then tell me that. And . . . We’ll figure it out,” Jon breathed. “Just . . . Just talk to me, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. She nestled against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologize again, and I’ll tell Davos,” Jon warned.

“What if I’m too sick for my appointment tomorrow? I already rescheduled once,” Sansa frowned against him.

“Well, besides the coughing, you’re feeling better, right?” Jon asked. She nodded.

“And the tired. And the fever.”

“Why’d you reschedule just a day? How was he not booked?”

Sansa’s frown deepened greatly. “Tomorrow is Wednesday.”

“Tomorrow is Tuesday, love.”

“Right. I scheduled for Wednesday. Which is _not_ tomorrow,” Sansa was quiet a moment. Then she giggled. “I’m an idiot.”

“Little bit, but only ‘cause you’re sick,” Jon kissed her hair lightly. His phone started yelling at him, and he groaned, fishing through his pockets for it. Sansa pulled off him with another coughing fit. It was just an alarm, but at nine-thirty-four at night, he couldn’t quite figure out why.

“I need the sleepy cold medicine,” Sansa rolled further from him. He scrambled to catch her before she fell clean off the bed, managing to keep her from falling on her ass but only just. Her eyes went wide with fear.

“Stay here, I’ll get it.”

“But I-“

“I’ll burrito you,” Jon warned. Sansa scowled at him as he pulled her back up onto the bed.

“I’m not a burrito, Jon Snow.”

“But you’re the cutest burrito.” He brushed his lips against her forehead and got out of bed, wandering out into the common space. Theon and Arya were still throwing the racquetball back and forth. He ignored them both, grabbing the packet of cold medicine and a glass of water.

“I swallowed my cough drop on accident,” said Sansa. Jon bit his tongue as he shut the door again, pausing to take her in. She was sat up in bed, her eyes slightly wild, hands dug into her hair.

Fucking beautiful.

She coughed to prove her point.

Jon handed her the water and fought the two little blue cold pills out of their packaging. He handed them to her one at a time.

“What if they just immediately knocked you out?” Sansa asked after swallowing the second. She flopped dramatically to the bed. “Would you be worried?”

“I already am,” Jon chuckled.

“Cold medicine makes me _weird._ ”

“Can’t imagine what you’d be like on hard shit,” Jon laughed lowly, rescuing the empty glass from his blankets. “Go brush your teeth so you can sleep.”

“I’ve done hard shit!” Sansa protested, sitting once more. Jon raised his eyebrows. “I got my wisdom teeth out, remember?”

Jon snorted. “Sans. Your PK is showing.”

“My what?!”

“Prosecutor’s kid,” Jon smiled. She cursed at him, jumping out of his bed before grabbing his wrist and dragging him to go brush their teeth together. Theon and Arya continued their weird game of catch.

Arya struck up a conversation with Sansa, leaving Jon the opportunity to change into pyjamas and brush his hair before it became too much. She was slumping into the couch by the time Arya decided to head home, having received an all clear from Margaery. Jon was still trying to coerce her to her feet when Robb returned, took a glance around the living room to find Jon, Theon, and Sansa all staring, and promptly dove into his room.

Theon shrugged, though his frown more than showed his concern. Jon finally decided to pick Sansa up, letting Theon turn off the lights as they all retreated to their rooms early.

“Am I heavy?” Sansa asked as Jon carried her to his bed. “I feel heavy.”

“You’re not heavy at all,” Jon assured her. He settled her into his bed, covering her in blankets, before turning off the lights and clambering in beside her. He’d barely settled when she shifted over, curling into his side.

“I’m sorry I’m gross right now,” Sansa murmured.

“You’re never gross,” he assured her.

“But I feel heavy _and_ gross, and frankly I feel like you’re trying to invalidate my feelings,” Sansa said. Jon chuckled, trying his best not to fully laugh at her, and she giggled lowly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” Sansa said. “Just. Everything. All the way back to primary school.”

“I didn’t do anything for you in primary,” Jon frowned, trying his hardest to remember.

“You always let me play with you and Robb.”

“Well, you always insisted on playing with us,” Jon said. He didn’t really remember playing with her, except that they were often wed in the middle of his games of knights with Robb. He remembered getting in trouble with Ms. Catelyn after he and Robb fell out of one of the trees in the backyard, somewhere around seven or so years old. He remembered her calling his mom. Jon cleared his throat, running his hand through her hair. “I feel like you remember me wrong sometimes.”

“If it’s to your benefit, don’t question it,” she said.

“Sans,” he sighed. She shifted, lifting her head off his chest, her hair falling over one shoulder as she looked down at him. He could barely see her and could barely breathe. He pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t you want to be my knight in shining armor?”

“Do you _need_ one?”

“No.”

“Then, okay.” She smiled. Jon felt himself laughing, and she ducked her head against his chest.

“You’re a weird one,” she mumbled into him.

“Yeah, probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking 'wow, we're getting to the end of this' and forgetting just how much detail I pack into Sansa's sickness and the Targaryen arc


	17. Lemon Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa goes to therapy, Jon rubs Robb the wrong way

She went to work the day after next, moving zombie-like through the boys’ kitchen as Jon whirled around her. Coffee in and out of her hand before she could take a sip with a comment about cold medicine not mixing with caffeine. Her hair fiddled with until he ran and got her a hair tie. He helped her put a jacket on to fight the fast dropping fall temperatures. Toast vanished from her hand before she even realized she’d been eating anything at all. He drove her to work, walked into her building for the first time ever, walked her all the way to her little cubicle. He stashed the cough drops Arya had gotten her in her desk, put a sticky note on the next round of cold medicine with the time she needed to take it.

“Thank you,” she said, probably for the thousandth time.

“Don’t be afraid to call me at lunch if you need to go home,” Jon kissed her forehead.

“But I thought you had a big case?”

“The guys will understand me missing thirty minutes of evidence drivel,” Jon said. She nodded, and he kissed her forehead again. “All right, I’m leaving now.”

“Okay. I’ll see you when I get home? Or maybe before,” she smiled as he backed away a step.

“Yeah. See you then,” he said. There was a heavy pause where he just stared for a moment. Sansa cleared her throat to avoid coughing and he jerkily raised his hand into a thumbs up. “Yeah. Bye.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Bye, Jon.”

“Remember to take your medicine,” he said under his breath, turning away and heading back toward the elevator. Sansa watched him go, smiling at his backside.

Work was work. Her coworkers assaulted her at lunch with a thousand questions she could hardly answer around her food and her coughing. She felt better than she had, but she was by no means perfectly healthy. Hand sanitizer was used religiously, and her coworker Walda gave her a disinfecting spray at the end of the day for her work station.

She went to see Jon’s therapist, Davos, though technically he was her therapist, too. He’d warned her that he already knew some things from Jon, that she didn’t have to speak directly to the ‘hard shit’ if she didn’t want to yet. But she liked him, he was easy to talk to, and they were talking about this and then that and then she was crying and he was handing her a tissue box. She left and cried in her car some more.

She drove home to Theon and Robb bickering about something with a sitcom playing in the background. She tidied up her things in Jon’s room and cleaned the bathroom before turning to the kitchen to quell her restless anxiety.

The boys were endlessly curious as she got everything together and started baking. Robb sent photos to their mum to try and guess before she was half finished pulling all her ingredients together. Theon started trying to sneak tastes before the oven was up to temperature.

She liberally applied her elbows and managed to keep them from her lemon cakes as they formed, baked, and cooled. She decided to make a glaze, as they were for Jon’s work, and pulled out the milk and powdered sugar. Robb and Theon were more than aware of what that meant. The elbows flew more liberally than ever.

Jon came home just as the lemon cakes cooled enough for icing without fear of excessive dripping. She was attempting to hold the bowl of icing away from Robb and Theon when he walked in the door, standing precariously on one of the armrests of the couch. All paused when the door opened. Jon stared for but a moment, then his briefcase dropped to the ground and he was rushing forward, grappling with Robb.

Sansa shrieked with laughter and traversed the couch, making it to the other armrest before Theon caught up with her again. She pretended to kick at him and nearly toppled over. Theon backed away, then jumped and swatted at the bowl like it was a ball.

“Theon!” Sansa jumped to the floor, cradling the bowl close to her chest. She ran for the kitchen, but arms circled her waist, drawing her short. She struggled forward another step, twisting in vain. “Jon, help!”

“Hands _off,_ Greyjoy!”

The arms disappeared, and not a heartbeat later, Jon and Theon crashed into the wall between Robb’s room and the bathroom. Her brother jumped into them before she’d skidded into the kitchen. She stood on her toes and put the bowl of icing on the cabinet above the microwave, somewhere none of the boys could reach without a step stool.

Triumphant, she turned to face them, only to see Jon being properly bullied by Robb and Theon. She rushed forward, shoving each in turn until she wiggled her way between Jon and the others, grabbing his wrists and pushing him back behind her. Jon slipped an arm around her shoulders so her neck fit in the crook of his elbow.

“Hostage!”

“Traitor!” Sansa howled. “I made you lemon cakes!”

“Let her go, foul fiend!” Robb said, deepening his voice falsely. Jon chuckled into her hair.

“You fucking idiot nerd,” Theon laughed.

“I’m bigger than you,” Sansa warned lowly.

“Taller, not bigger.”

“Go boneless!”

“That’s not a _thing_ , Theon!”

“Is too!”

Jon pulled her closer, his elbow lifting almost enough to choke her. Sansa grabbed his wrist in warning. She trusted Jon. She knew it in her bones, when the walls did not come pressing in. She’d been choked before. It was not a pleasurable thing for her. Jon knew that—Theon, too. Theon’s eyes watched Jon with all the suspicion of a man who’d seen too much of the world.

Sansa swallowed; her grip on Jon remained light. She was in control. He would stop. He _would_ stop.

_Trust._

“Easy,” Sansa muttered. Jon pressed his lips into her hair behind her ear, his fingers tapping lightly against her hip. Some sort of signal. Sansa knew why it was necessary.

“That’s my sister, Snow.”

As soon as Jon let her go, the shade of Robb’s face and growl in his voice indicated that her brother would, at the very least, attempt to shove Jon’s head through the wall. She tapped Jon back discreetly. Hopefully, he’d notice.

Jon’s breath neared her throat. She did not meet anyone’s eyes as she pushed her hips back against him. His hands curled into her, one over her shoulder, one over her hip.

“ _Jon_.”

“I have zero interest in hurting her,” he hummed. Sansa bit her lip, wriggling just a little more before she decided that it was probably rude to do so in front of other people. “I know where her lines are.”

Sansa found herself nodding a little. Jon smiled against her.

“I’m getting real fucking tired of your smug ass face, Snow,” Theon said.

“Imagine how I feel about _yours_.”

“All right, Jon, get off me,” Sansa said. Jon’s fingers dug into her hip lightly. She could all but feel his gaze meet Robb’s, especially when Robb’s lip curled slightly. Sansa would’ve sworn his eye twitched, too. She truly hoped Jon knew what he was doing. She sure as hell didn’t.

“I’m done,” he chuckled. It sounded forced to her ears, close as she was to him. He let her go slowly. Sansa whirled, shoving him away from her. He held his hands up in surrender. “Easy, love, I said I was done.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” Sansa said, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him across the living room to his room. He didn’t fight. She slammed the door behind them. She sighed, rubbing at her throat with a wince.

“I didn’t hurt-“

“I’m sick, Jon, remember?” Sansa said softly. Jon nodded. Exhaustion tugged idly at her. Even as early as it was, she wouldn’t be upset about going to bed right then and there.

“So, I kinda made that weird,” Jon said quietly. “Right?”

Sansa took a deep breath, listening to the silence falling over the apartment. She turned away to cough. Sometime in the fighting, her cough drop had run out. She grabbed another from the package on Jon’s dresser. “I’m fine. Don’t think provoking Robb to kill you is in either of our best interests.”

“Yeah?” The hint of a smile pulled at his lips. Sansa nodded. His smile only widened.

“What?”

“Well, I _know_ it’s not in my best interest,” Jon said. “Didn’t realize it was so important to _you_ -“

“Theon’s right, you are getting insufferable,” Sansa murmured. Jon’s smile faltered. “I- I’m kidding. I promise, I’m kidding. If anyone was being an ass, it was Robb.”

“You’d think after his first date in months that he’d be less on edge,” Jon said darkly, glancing at the door. Sansa stepped closer to him, touching his shoulder lightly. Jon’s eyes flitted back to her. “He’s had a rough go of it, with you.”

“It’s not helping,” Sansa admitted. Jon took her wrists in both his hands, kissing her palms lightly. Fuck, he shouldn’t look at her that way. Her knees wobbled where she stood.

“You all right today?” Jon asked, that concerned furrow in his brow forming. She pulled away from him carefully, wishing she could sear the feeling of his lips on her skin to her memory. Already, it was fleeting. “You took the cold-“

“Yeah, yeah. I’m feeling a lot less sick,” Sansa sighed, sitting down on his bed. His eyes followed her, assessing. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“How was Davos?”

He knew her too well.

“He thinks I’m a looney,” Sansa smiled wryly.

“He does not.”

“He says I’m traumatized,” Sansa said. She wasn’t sure it was her voice. “And I knew that. I really did. But hearing someone else say it, it’s different. I don’t know.”

“First time he asked how something affected my anxiety, I asked him if he really thought I had anxiety,” Jon smiled sadly. Sansa folded her hands in her lap and glared at them. He came closer. “You know what he said?”

“Obviously not.”

“He said ‘fear is enough,’” Jon said softly. “The fact that I’m aware that my brain isn’t working the way it should—the way most people’s does—is enough.”

“What are you anxious about?” Sansa asked.

Jon’s hands folded over hers as he knelt on the carpet before her. She swallowed. His eyes were so dangerous. So soft.

“Lately? You.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you anxious about?”

“Everything,” Sansa whispered.

“You had some sort of nightmare last night,” Jon said lowly. “I meant to ask but we were doing other things, and then you were hardly awake when we got to your work.”

“I think it was the NyQuil.” She rarely remembered any more than the impression that she’d had a dream. Sansa watched his thumb make a circle over the back of her hand. “Cersei Lannister was there. She was going to burn me alive, like a witch.”

“Did she?”

Sansa shook her head. “Dad showed up. She cut off his head, but when I looked at it, it was Robb’s.”

Jon let out a huff of breath. “Maybe you are a witch. Damn odd dream, Sans.”

“Probably just the cold stuff.” Sansa sighed again. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. _I_ didn’t even wake up.”

“I know,” Jon said. “You’d rolled away from me. I just sort of . . . pulled you back. You, uh, kind of mellowed out.”

Sansa nodded, rubbing her finger against his. Even that felt daring to her. “Thank you.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah.”

“I- I don’t want- After the Feast of the Mother, I just- I want things to . . . stay the same.”

_Stay the same._

Sansa felt herself melt under his gaze, even as her heart plummeted.

_Stay the same?_

“I don’t want to go back to being sad or angry or just feeling nothing all the time,” Jon whispered. “I like talking to you, I like laughing with you, I like watching your stupid movies.”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ is a cinematic masterpiece,” Sansa said lightly, trying to keep the severity of his words from affecting her.

_Stay. The. Same._

Jon smiled broadly, but Sansa cut him off. “One word from you on the subject and I will never speak to you again.”

Dangerous, dangerous eyes. “Very well. I suppose I’ll just steal your lemon cakes.”

Sansa snorted, “It sounds positively filthy when you say it like that.”

“Which is why I said it like that.”

Sansa shook her head, laughed lightly. “You’re an idiot, Jon Snow.”

“Eh, probably,” he shrugged, standing. “Think Robb’s cooled off enough?”

“Doubt it,” Sansa pushed herself further into the bed, folding her hands under her head. Jon gestured to the space beside her. “Oh, please.”

“Odds they think we’re fight-fucking?”

“ _Fight-fucking?!_ ”

Jon flopped onto the bed, folding his hands over his stomach. “You know, that stupid thing that happens in movies where one second they’re fighting and the next they’re ripping off clothes?” Sansa turned her head to look at him. “You’re unfamiliar with the concept. I’m quite experienced with it.”

“Really?”

Jon sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Ygritte was an angry person.”

Sansa reached over, laying one hand atop his. He smiled, though he didn’t look at her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to tell Davos how much you apologize and he’s going to tell you to stop.”

“He’ll probably just ask me to be more conscious of it.”

Jon chuckled. “That does sound like something he’d say.”

“Well, I’m sorry you think I apologize too much.” He laughed, turning to look at her. She shifted onto her side so she could touch his hair. “You should let me braid your hair again.”

“Any time,” Jon said. Sansa smiled. “I’m serious. You came into my office and said you wanted to play with my hair, and I’d sit on the floor and let you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ll give me a big head, talking like that.”

Sansa’s cheeks ached faintly, just from looking at him. She pulled a couple strands of hair into his face. He blew at them, screwing up his face. She laughed, pulling them back behind his head again.

“Should we pretend?” Sansa bit her lip.

“Pretend what?”

“That we did fight-fuck.”

Jon’s dark eyes bored through her. “And how would we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa said. “You’re the experienced one.”

“I don’t want to rip your clothes.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” Jon laughed. Sansa gasped, swatting him as she giggled.

“You’re horrible.”

“They’ll flay me for exhausting you while you’re sick and need rest,” Jon said.

“I’m feeling better,” Sansa pouted. “And I’m bored. And Robb deserves it.”

Jon hummed lowly. “Hard to argue with that.”


	18. Temptation Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes off his shirt. Sansa yells at Robb.

Given they were trying to keep Robb from killing Jon, they probably went just a _little_ too far. While they didn’t go with Sansa’s suggestion that she suck a mark onto his neck—because gods knew what Jon would do if she even tried—he did mess her hair up rather furiously, and she did the same to him, though she added a few little braids behind his ears. He gave her one of his sweatshirts from university and she pulled her shirt and bra out from underneath it, throwing them strategically so they’d be visible from the common space when his door was left open. Jon just took off his shirt, hoping and quite pleased to see Sansa’s cheeks pink. He had to repeat himself twice.

“I said ‘you look good in my hoodie.’”

Sansa looked down, pink turning red. That’d never get old. “Thanks.”

“Should I do push-ups or something?”

“Yes. Wait, uhm. Why?”

“Because I’m not sure I’ve ever had sex without breaking a sweat.”

Sansa tongue darted across her lips. Jon couldn’t look away, crossing his arms over his chest. She did it again. Jon fought a losing battle against an ever-persistent smirk. Sansa cleared her throat, eyes meeting his. She wrinkled her nose. “You’re serious? You’re that sweaty?”

Jon chuckled. “One of these days, love, someone is going to show you what good sex is like.”

“Promises, promises,” Sansa bit her lip for a moment. Jon would’ve paid good money to learn what crossed her mind. Would’ve overconfidently bet money that it maybe just might have involved him. “Don’t you have push-ups to do?”

“Don’t usually do them with an audience.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I’m not a slab of meat to be ogled, Sansa Stark,” Jon lifted his chin. Her eyes dropped down his form. Jon took a deep breath. Why did they have to pretend? He’d gladly push her into the bed and pull her hair and do whatever she asked as she asked it.

_I want you, I want you, I want you._

Her eyes met his, and he could’ve sworn he saw the same want in her. He stepped closer, feet moving of their own accord.

_I want you, I want you._

Sansa’s hand touched his chest, and she looked down at him, not quite at him, but at his lips, he could’ve sworn, and he knew that she’d taste like the sweetened lemon lip balm she always wore. He knew exactly what it’d taste like because she’d offered it once and he’d been unable to say no because he could never say no. Not to her.

_I want you._

“Sansa.”

“Sansa!”

Sansa jolted as though struck at the sound of her best friend’s voice, blinking at him as though surprised he was there. Jon touched her elbow, nodding his head slightly. She frowned but pushed past him to the door. Jon stood still for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. An idiot. He was an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. One didn’t tell a girl they wanted to stay friends and try to kiss her all at once. Except he hadn’t been _able_ to say that he wanted to stay friends because he _didn’t_. But he also didn’t mean to say he wanted to live in perpetual purgatory.

How was it that even fully intending to have a serious conversation with her about . . . what they were, he immediately felt like he needed another?

“Stop. Fucking. Up.”

Even if she did want him, what if it changed things? What if he fucked up, as he had with Ygritte? What if he was too much for her, too little? What if she wasn’t ready, if she would never be ready? What if he was just imagining things?

“Are you _kidding me?!”_

Jon was rushing to her side before he could take full stock of the situation. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He seemed to be doing that more and more often.

Robb toed at the ground, gaze downcast as Sansa seethed. Margaery leaned against the fridge, a neutral sort of expression cast over her face but her hands twisted in front of her. Theon lurked by the door to his room, bottle of fish feed in hand. Jon recognized the primary tension to be between Robb and Sansa by the way Theon’s eyes darted between them.

“You only _approved_ of Jon to get a _pass_ to date _Margaery?!”_ Sansa shrieked. “ _That’s_ what you’re going with?!”

Jon could not recall her being so angry in all his life. Her entire being shook, no longer just her hands. He did not know what Robb had said to spark this, but it must’ve been horrifying. Jon felt himself shutting down at the words she’d spoken.

Robb didn’t approve of him?

Why did that matter _,_ especially to Sansa? Sansa couldn’t care less about Robb’s opinion.

But the tiny voice that had been quiet for about two months whispered back. _Robb doesn’t even like you. He pities you. Sansa deserves better and he knows it. Everyone does._

“How _dare_ you,” Sansa spat.

“Sans, I didn’t- I never-”

“It’s fine.” Jon spoke numbly, trying to shut out that little voice. Davos knew about it. It was just anxiety. It was real, but he shouldn’t pay it too much attention. Shouldn’t let it run his life.

_Just a broken little boy that no one will ever want._

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” Sansa lurched forward a step. Jon looped his arm around her waist, just because he knew damn well she wasn’t going to do anything but get in Robb’s face. At least this way it _looked_ like she was pissed enough to do something. “You don’t _let me_ do anything, Robbert Stark. I’m an _adult_. I’m allowed to fuck who I please, for as long as I please, and it’s not, nor will it ever be, any of your damn business. There’s no _trade._ I like Jon. If you like Margaery, and she likes you, fine. I’m not twelve. But to treat this like some sort of exchange? It’s bullshit. It’s demeaning. I despise the implication. _Fucking apologize._ ”

“I’m sorry, Sans.”

“To _Jon._ ”

“Sansa, I’m fine,” Jon said again, his arm tight around her waist. “I am.”

He didn’t feel fine. He didn’t feel anything, really. But he didn’t want this to be any bigger of a problem. He met Robb’s eyes. Robb took a deep breath before nodding his head.

“Jon, I didn’t mean it that way, it was a bad joke. She’s right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Jon said. His chest loosened slightly, returning Robb’s nod. Robb looked at Margaery, who’d taken the _Jurassic Park_ ‘If I don’t move, she can’t see me’ advice to heart. She wasn’t even trembling slightly, still as a statue.

“It’s not,” Sansa turned to look at him. Jon couldn’t look away. Something in her eyes made his chest tighten again, though in a far better way than it had been. She reached up and touched his cheek lightly. “I-“

“Completely understanding that I am the bad guy in this situation, do you two mind?” Robb muttered. Sansa’s crystal blue eyes narrowed and darkened as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Yup. Yeah. Carry on.”

Margaery laughed, a bright sound even if it was laced with a hint of nerves. Sansa pulled away as Margaery stepped forward. Jon crossed his arms over his chest as they hugged. “I heard you were sick, sweetie, and I’m gods awful at keeping secrets.”

“Arya thought you were doing pretty well,” Sansa said. Margaery grinned that grin that made Jon feel especially naked, even if it was directed at Sansa. He needed to ask her if her friend really did have x-ray vision. “One date and you’re having marathon sex?”

Robb coughed loudly, eyes striking Jon’s for a moment before he turned on his heel and ran to the kitchen for a beer.

Jon’s phone buzzed loudly and it was at that moment, scavenging through his pockets, that he realized he had quite forgotten that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He cleared his throat, catching both the ladies’ gazes. No wonder Margaery was looking at him like he was half-naked. He _was_. “‘M gonna. Take this.” He answered it without looking at the caller ID, ducking into his room. “Jon Snow, how can I help?”

“Jon, it’s me.”

He kicked the door shut quickly, taking a sharp breath. “Dany. What do you want.”

“That went downhill quickly,” she laughed a little. “Your father-“

“If he wants to talk to me, he can call himself,” Jon said shortly, clenching his jaw. It’d been months, close to a year, since Jon had last fit into Rhaegar Targaryen the whatever-eth’s tight schedule for a five-minute phone call. He hadn’t tried after, but his damn father hadn’t either.

“Jon.” The dangerous bit of warning in her voice shot through him. She’d always commanded attention, demanded respect. He didn’t hate her as much as the others. He didn’t like her near as much as he liked his half-siblings, though. She was only better to talk to than his father because he didn’t feel quite so incommensurately awkward with her. “Drogo and I are coming from Essos for this Feast of the Mother thing. It’d be nice to see you while I’m in Westeros.”

“He can’t just use you as an excuse to drag me into your family,” Jon snapped. And she was quite egotistical to assume that he actually _wanted_ to see her to begin with. Rhaenys would’ve been far better a liaison, but she and Eggy had promised not to manipulate Jon the first time they met in Riverrun. A twinge of guilt struck him as he tried to remember the last time he’d checked in with either of them. His life had become all about work, all about Sansa.

“ _Our_ family,” Daenerys corrected sharply. Jon rolled his eyes. Her voice softened. “I _know_ it’s messy, Jon, but you’re one of us.”

“Yeah, now that Elia’s divorced him and my mum’s long gone. If I’m _one of you_ then how come I paid out of pocket for my mother’s damn funeral, which, by the way, _not one_ Targaryen bothered to show for,” Jon said. Rhaenys and Eggy had come, Elia with them. She hadn’t spoken to Jon, but she’d come. His father, his uncle, his aunt—none of them made an appearance.

He didn’t think he was capable of forgiving them for it.

“He’s going to offer to pay for your law school,” Daenerys blurted. Jon blinked. _Law school?_ His father had barely managed to hold a conversation with him more than twice a visit, and now he wanted to drop thousands of dragons on _law school?_ “There’ll be strings attached, I’m sure, but . . . He wants to try. He really does, Jon. He’s pulling out all the stops. Rhaenys will be there, and Eggy. It’s been years, just- just try. Once. And if it all goes to shit, I’ll personally tell him to fuck off.”

“You’re the worst,” Jon grumbled.

“I’m going to be in Westeros by this time next week, Drogo and I can meet up with you for lunch or something separately before you decide about a whole Targaryen holiday. Okay?” Daenerys asked. Jon grunted. “Is that a yes? I’m taking it as a yes.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

“Great. I’ll text you,” she said. “You’re one of us, Jon, we’ll take care of you.”

“That’d be a first,” he said flatly. “Bye.”

“Bye!”

He glared at his phone as it flashed the length of the call and locked itself. A sharp inhalation through his nose reminded him that he absolutely should not throw his phone into the wall. He didn’t need to add scheduling an appointment to get a new one or even just have to get the screen fixed. He really just didn’t.

“Fuck.” Targaryen family drama. Because _that_ was what he fucked needed.

He opened the door, squeezing his phone in his hand and glaring at the blank screen. He should text Rhaenys now. Get her and Eggy to see if this was real or just Daenerys fucking with him to get him to go south. Sansa and Margaery ceased their giggling on the couch. Sansa’s smile slid clean off her face. “Jon?”

“My aunt called,” he said dully.

“Oh, gods,” Robb said, beer halfway to his mouth.

“What do _they_ want?” Theon demanded from his room.

“If I go to King’s Landing for the Feast of the Mother, he’ll pay for my law school.”

“No,” Sansa said, hardly more than a whisper, her mouth falling open in clear horror. He couldn’t break his eyes from hers. So much for her plan to break up at her parents’ house. A little part of him was pleased, but he really didn’t want to go to King’s Landing, leave her alone during the holiday.

Margaery laughed nervously, turning to look at Robb for a moment. “Have I missed something? First your aunt is non-binary, now they’re a he?”

“ _She_ is Daenerys, the official Targaryen family spokesperson when it comes to Jon. _They_ are the biggest assholes on the planet,” Robb explained. He took a long pull from his beer. “ _He_ is Rhaegar Targaryen the fucking twelfth or something, billionaire absentee father extraordinaire.”

Margaery’s face fell into shock, gaping at Jon. “ _You’re_ a Targaryen?”

“Half. Barely.”

“I thought we would go to mine for the Feast,” Sansa said quietly. Jon met her eyes. He could see the wheels turning as her eyes darted around his face. Always planning. “You can use that as an excuse not to go.”

“But, law school,” Theon ventured out of his room. “Sansa, that’s— _law school_.”

Jon rubbed at his beard with a groan, hiding behind his hand. “If I tell them about you they won’t stop until they meet you and figure out if you’re after the family fortune or not.”

“If I was after your fortune I’d let you get away with a lot more than I do,” Sansa smiled a little.

“I don’t want to know,” Robb called, digging into the fridge for another beer.

“I do,” Margaery bumped Sansa’s shoulder and they both giggled quietly. Jon shot Robb an alarmed look as Robb handed him the beer. “You’ve been stingier on details than ever, Sansa dearest.”

“Well, my love, perhaps I’d be more inclined to share if you did.”

“No!” Jon and Robb shouted together. Gods, Robb would murder him slowly if any details filtered through Margaery to him—real or not. Especially if what Jon thought was true of her _was_ , that she wanted a stronger hand in the bedroom than most would presume. Just the thought of a blush high on her cheeks as he whispered filth to her made his body warm. The women dissolved into giggling once more.

“Azor Ahai, Sansa, sometimes I think you want me to have to kill him,” Robb grumbled.

“You kill him, and you’ll have to find me another hot guy who goes down on me more than I go down on him,” Sansa looked at Jon as she said it, her eyebrows twitching suggestively as she ogled his shirtless form once more. Jon felt his face heating quickly. Her smirk only grew. Wicked, spoiled woman. He’d make her squirm and beg before he gave her an ounce of satisfaction.

If he was going to King’s Landing without her, he wasn’t leaving anything up in the air before he left.

“Sansa!”

Theon laughed loudly at Margaery’s overdramatic gasp. “Robb! This mans is good to Sansa, kill him, and I’ll stop fucking you.”

“Marg!”

“I’m serious, Robb, no one’s _ever_ gone down on her before!”

 _“Margaery!”_ Sansa shrieked, slapping her best friend’s thigh. Her eyes met Jon’s for all of a heartbeat before darting away again. Jon swallowed, shifting on his feet.

He could be her first. At the one sex act that was focused purely on her pleasure. He could treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

He wanted to know what her thighs felt like clamped around his head. What she tasted like on his tongue—the first taste of her any man would get. What she sounded like with his tongue against her.

Their eyes met, and her flaming cheeks meant nothing. He wanted to make her _writhe_. He wanted to turn her into a sex addict, wanted her to know what pleasure felt like.

He could die happy if he was responsible for her pleasure just once. Just once.

“Gods, get a room,” Margaery laughed, shoving Sansa’s shoulder lightly.

She didn’t look away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins le Targaryen fuckery.
> 
> Also: when was the last time you disinfected your laptop/keyboard? Don't remember? Do that. Disinfect your phone. Door knobs. Light switches. Wash. Your. Hands. If your local stores are out of hand sanitizer, you can buy aloe vera and mix it with *denatured* alcohol in equal parts. NOT DRINKING ALCOHOL, not Vodka, MAYBE Everclear. It has to be at least 60% alcohol to kill viruses like this coronavirus, which means 120 proof.
> 
> COVID-19 is no reason to panic, but you don't have to ignore it in the hopes that it'll go away either.


	19. Lunch Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa picks up Jon from work, and they talk about King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are staying safe and sane in the melting world

_Wait like 10 minutes, meeting is running late, I’ll pick you up, promise._

Sansa sighed, collecting her things for lunch. She didn’t want to wait ten minutes. She wanted to see Jon _right then_ , wanted him to be waiting in the elevator.

She’d spent every night that week at his place. Theon was asking for rent. Robb didn’t seem to mind, and she wasn’t quite sure what had hatched between the boys, but they were thick as thieves once more. Jon was too exhausted from work to do much more than eat and watch five minutes of a movie before passing out with his head in Sansa’s lap. Coercing him to bed was a marketable skill.

Especially considering the self-control it took her to keep from jumping him at any hour. He kept giving her those long, heated stares that made her hair stand on end. Like he wanted to eat her whole.

Or eat her out.

She _wanted_ him to. She wanted him to grab her and push her against the wall and devour her. But he hadn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t.

_It’s nice out, I’ll just wait outside._

Sansa threw her purse over her shoulder, then delayed further by digging through it for her headphones. She popped them in to avoid unwanted social interaction and moved toward the elevator. Most days she would’ve been happy to chat with any number of her coworkers, but today was an odd day. A Thursday.

Another week stuck doing something she didn’t want to do to make up for a man’s abuse of her.

Abused. She’d been abused.

Both her relationships were abusive. She’d known that before Davos said it. Jon was right though. There was something damned nice about getting objective third-party verification.

She’d only known the man all of an hour or two and he knew so much about her. But who was he to tell? Jon? Jon already knew the most of it.

She wondered when she’d found all the time to tell him, but it’d been two and some change months already.

_Just make it to the Feast of the Mother. No need to prolong the moping. Or just sit on his face before then. Or then. Or after._

Sansa smiled at her coworkers, sifting through her socials as she waited for Jon’s answering text. Perhaps she should just walk over to his firm. That’d be a nice surprise, wouldn’t it?

The leaves were starting to turn, and Sansa stuffed her hands in her pockets as she left her building. The wind picked up lightly, tugging her hair into her face as she took in the city street. People were out and about, walking to lunch or to work or home. It was brisk but the sky was clear and the sun was bright.

She thought about his family as she walked. Should she insist on going with him to King’s Landing for the Feast? Or was that too much? She didn’t like the idea of him being alone with those people. As far as she knew, he hadn’t talked to any of them (except his half-siblings, who he claimed were Martells, not Targaryens) since his mum died in a car accident while they were in college, and even then had only met his dad two or three times. Why would he suddenly want to enter Jon’s life? How could he hold something as big as law school over Jon’s head?

Sansa spotted the sign for his firm as she crossed the street. _Mormont and Brothers_ it read, in a distinguished font, a black crow soaring over _Brothers_. She didn’t know how many brothers Mormont had, if any, but it was certainly better than Mormont and Mormont, or worse still, Mormont, Mormont, and Mormont. At some point a word could be said so much as to become unreal, though all words were designated arbitrarily.

Sansa jumped out of the way of a longboarder and shook her head. Then, horrified at the idea of her thinking anybody to be a _damn kid_ , she turned to watch the boy go. All she could see was skater-boy hair peeking out from under a beanie.

“Typical,” she sighed. Then she realized it didn’t make her feel any less old. She rubbed at her forehead for a moment, decided to move past it, and headed into Jon’s building.

There was a receptionist looking man standing behind a desk by the entrance. Sansa made her way over, trying not to obviously gape at the atrium. It was two stories tall at least, the second level having a balcony looking down at the entrance. There was a fountain in one corner. The building was only five or six stories tall in total, but it absolutely reeked of _fancy_ in a way that her father’s Winterfell DA office never had.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The receptionist asked softly. Sound carried. Sansa tugged her earbuds out hastily.

Sansa went to answer and coughed into her elbow instead. “Sorry, coming off a cold.”

“No worries, it’s that time of year,” he smiled broadly. “Are you here to see someone?”

“Erm, Jon Snow. He’s a paralegal with Mormont and Brothers,” Sansa said quietly. He nodded, turning to type into a desktop computer.

“Are you a client or a visitor?”

“Girlfriend. Visitor,” Sansa moved away to cough again, digging into her purse after a cough drop. “Sorry.”

An elevator door dinged behind her. “Brienne can take you up.”

“Thank you.”

She twisted to face the elevator and almost had her brain short. The woman was _tall_ , wearing a navy blue suit that made her eyes absolutely glow, straw yellow hair slicked back. Sansa’s feet propelled her forward, a smile dancing across her face. The woman, Brienne, swiped a security card across a reader and the elevator dinged again. Sansa got in the car.

“Ma’am.”

“Do they treat you well here?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Yes, they do.” The door closed. Brienne swiped the card again and hit the button for the fifth floor. “You’re Sansa Stark.”

“Yeah,” Sansa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“They’re going to mob you, you know,” she said, amusement jumping along her words. “You gave them food.”

“Really?” Sansa groaned. “I should’ve stayed in the lobby.”

“I’ll stay until Snow comes to rescue you,” said Brienne. Sansa gripped her purse tightly as the elevator car stopped moving. The doors binged and opened, Brienne stepping out first. Sansa hovered at her side, trying to take in what she could before the mob arrived.

It all smelled vaguely familiar. Coffee and something—whiskey, almost. It was the smell of the DA office. Maybe it was just lawyer smell. Or maybe it was Northern lawyer smell. Or perhaps it’d just been Mormont all along.

There was another receptionist desk, this one staffed by a small woman with bright red hair, clearly from a bottle. She smiled around Brienne at Sansa. “Hi! Are you a client or a visitor?”

“Visitor,” Sansa said, stepping forward.

“And you’re here for-“

“Snow’s girlfriend,” Brienne said shortly. Behind the desk was a conference room with clear glass, a hallway running on either side of it. People moved through the halls, and Sansa could hear at least one microwave down one of the halls. Some of the doors were open to show offices.

There were probably a dozen people around the conference table. She couldn’t see either end, or the table. It was covered in binders, loose papers, legal pads, laptops. The man directly across from the door made eye contact with her, his head tilting sideways like a curious dog. His mouth moved.

Then there were eight pairs of eyes on her.

Brienne chuckled as Jon stumbled into view, shooting a glare at one of his coworkers as he pushed through the glass door. Sansa moved away from Brienne. He gave her a stunned sort of look and hugged her.

“I was coming,” he said softly.

“I wanted to come get you for a change,” Sansa said. Jon stepped back, his hands on her waist. “Are you ready?”

“I need my jacket,” he shrugged. His tie was loosened, a little bit cockeyed around his neck. He’d rolled his cornflower blue sleeves up to his elbows. His hair was up in a tidy little half-bun she dearly loved. He smelled of the pomade he put in his hair to make it more ‘presentable,’ the one she absolutely hated. She liked his natural hair. But, she had to admit, it smelled pretty damn good.

“Mm, do you?”

“Sans,” he said. She smiled innocently. He kissed her cheek lightly. “Wanna come with?”

“Jon, you _know_ how Mr. Mormont is about unnecessary guests,” the receptionist cut in. Jon groaned, glancing behind him.

All his coworkers in the conference room were watching, standing up by the door. Sansa spotted the tin of lemon cakes she’d given to Jon to bring in, and unless there were a spare few hiding, they were all gone. Jon bounced on the balls of his feet. “I can go without the jacket.”

“Jon,” she pinched his side. “They’re people, not wild dogs.”

“Fine,” he muttered. He waved them forward. Three proceeded out of the conference room with an odd mix of self-control and rushing. One of them was the one who’d first noticed her, and he let the others push past him.

“I’m Edd Tollett,” the first extended his hand, shoulder-length hair oddly fitting for his long face. Sansa shook his hand, smiling politely. “Wanted to thank you for the lemon cakes.”

“Sansa, and you’re very welcome. I would’ve eaten them all myself without help.”

“None of us could blame you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’ve heard things, too,” Sansa said, keeping her chin up. Jon kissed her temple and pushed through them to get to the hallway. He vanished quickly.

“I’m Grenn,” said the next. His grip was strong, his smile broad. “The one who occasionally gets a hit in amongst all the abuse he gives us.”

“I’m familiar,” she said. His grin turned wicked and sheepish all at once.

“Hi. Pyp,” he touched a hand to his own chest. Sansa folded hers together in front of her.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Edd. Grenn. Pyp. Not so hard.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” An older man came up, glowering enough to make Sansa shift on her feet, gripping the strap of her purse tightly. He took her in with a harsh sweep of his narrowed eyes. She swallowed nervously as Edd shrugged.

“Takin’ lunch. What of it?” The older grumbled under his breath and stomped down a hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. Sansa let out a shaking breath. “Thorne’s a bastard, don’t mind him.”

“Have anything on Snow that’ll help us take the mickey out of him?” Grenn asked.

“LSAT scores? Failed class?” Edd prompted.

“Odd dick?” Pyp chimed. Grenn elbowed him viciously.

Sansa laughed quietly, spotting Jon as he returned, his dark grey suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He looked nice—really nice. He winked at her as he came to a stop at her side, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she said. It was a miracle she didn’t stumble over her words. Jon laced their fingers together and started tugging her toward the elevator. She waved at his friends first. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Hey!”

Once in the safety of the elevator again, Sansa felt herself laughing. “You make friends so easily.”

“They’re all rotten little bastards,” Jon chuckled. “It’s a miracle Edd kept all of them from attacking at once.”

“Was that all the paralegals?”

“In the conference room? Them and a few interns, yeah,” Jon nudged her shoulder with his. “I don’t know how I got them to listen to me. Told them they weren’t allowed to harangue you all together.”

“You’re smart and nice and you _care_ about people,” Sansa squeezed his hand gently. “And you can be brutally mean when you want. Picked it up from Dad.”

“So they’re scared of me?”

“No, they love you,” Sansa said. “They’re just aware of what being on your bad side looks like.”

“You wouldn’t make a bad litigator yourself, young lady,” Jon said as the elevator opened to the lobby. He tugged her out, crossing the lobby with sure strides. Every footstep echoed. A tall, older man entered the building, balding but with a strength about his frame. Sansa pressed closer to Jon. “Juries would be in love with you before you’d finished _voir dire_.”

“I’d rather teach than hold people’s lives in my hands,” Sansa said quietly. After they passed the man, Jon pulled away from her for a moment to sling his jacket on and get the door for her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she felt as though they were being watched. Belatedly, she mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Yep,” Jon reclaimed her hand as they started off down the street toward their coffee spot. “Except teaching is a different way of holding people’s lives in your hands. You can legitimately save more kids from the prison system by the time they’re ten than I ever could defending them.”

“Actually, I can’t,” said Sansa. “Middle class white ladies comprise the majority of school teachers overall, but it’s even worse the younger you get. And studies show that having one teacher, one, that shares your gender and race before third grade vastly increases the likelihood of your graduating a post-secondary institution. Male teachers of color are needed desperately right now, especially at the primary level, except then you dive into tokenism and they get held to this impossible standard of they have to save every kid who’s _like them._ It’s a whole thing. Don’t get me started on higher education’s teacher demographics.”

“Why not? I like listening to you talk,” Jon said. “It’s a nice change from me rambling on about legal stuff all the time.”

So, she talked. She’d taken one preliminary secondary education course in undergrad at her mother’s insistence, but decided she’d rather teach post-secondary than secondary. She had a good memory for it. Midway through, they sort of just naturally transitioned into her knowledge of the publishing world. Jon’s face grew more and more pensive as they ate.

“Aren’t there publishing houses in Winterfell?” He asked. Sansa nodded. “Why aren’t you working there?”

“I’ve got my accounting thing,” Sansa said.

“Yeah, but you hate that.”

“I do not!”

“You’re creatively stifled,” Jon said. “You’ve never once lit up talking about that place the same way you do about teaching or writing or publishing or editing.”

“Writing? I don’t write, Jon.”

“Yeah, but I can see how much you appreciate that skill,” he reached across the table to steal a carrot stick from her. It crunched loudly. “So, why not work for a publishing house instead?”

“Because- Well-“ Sansa swallowed. “It’s . . . Numbers are safe, Jon.”

Jon stared blankly. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t start-“

“How are you going to get what you want in life by playing it safe?” Jon demanded. “You have to take a risk every now and again, Sans. Just a little one. Apply somewhere. See what happens. Keep your stupid math job until you know whether or not you got the gig.”

“Maybe later-“

“Tonight.”

“Jon,” she groaned.

“Stick your neck out just this once,” Jon reached across the table to grab her hand. “You deserve better than _safe_ numbers.”

“I like math,” Sansa said softly.

“And you _love_ English, you love stories and people,” Jon said. “Isn’t that worth it?”

“Fine. I’ll apply this weekend.”

“Tonight.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “All right, all right.”

“We ought to head back,” Jon said, glancing at his phone. He frowned deeply, pulling away from her.

“More Targaryen family drama?”

“Yeah,” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling his glasses out. Sansa took their plates and cleaned off the table as best she could. He rose slowly, engrossed in his phone. She slipped her arm into his and guided him out onto the street. “Sorry, it’s Rhaenys and Eggy in our group chat.”

“You have a group chat with them?” Sansa frowned. It was the first she’d heard of it.

“Yeah, ‘Dad Sucks Dick.’ Only ever really kicks up for two of seven Feasts each year,” said Jon. “This year it’s Mother and Crone I guess. He managed to coerce them to some kind of yacht thing. Eggy’s been motion sick as a motherfucker since we were six, spent the whole time tossing cookies into the sea.”

“Poor guy,” Sansa winced. She was much the same. “I still don’t get why you call him Eggy.”

“There’s like twelve hundred Aegon Targaryens. His legal name is basically Aegon Targaryen the twenty-third. Two X’s and three I’s, Sans.” Jon shot her a dry look. “Three in all history have been nicknamed Eggy. We _think_ , based on ancient texts and diaries-”

Sansa laughed under her breath. “I get it. I just think it’s funny.”

“I had to get stuck with the stupidest family in Westeros,” Jon grumbled.

“Hey, we Starks aren’t so bad,” Sansa said. Jon smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he watched her. She squeezed his hand lightly. “So, what are we doing for the Feast of the Mother?”

“I . . . I have to go see them. Figure out what strings are attached, if it’s worth it. I don’t know,” Jon shrugged.

“Will I need something fancy to wear?”

“Sans, I won’t ask you to come, you don’t need to,” Jon shook his head.

“They’re nightmarish, Jon,” she protested. “You think I’ll let you go alone?”

“Sans, they’ll try to rip into you, rip us apart, it’s all they’ve been good at for centuries-“

“Can you stop with the descended from ancient kings thing, you’ll end up with my Aunt Lysa down your throat about genealogy again,” Sansa said. He made a face at the memory of her Vale rant two years ago. Though Sansa hadn’t been there in person for Aunt Lysa’s ravings, she’d certainly heard tell of them. Her mother’s sister hadn’t been invited to a family function since. “I’m coming, or we’re done. Let me help you.”

Jon came to a stop, turning to look at her. “Ultimatums? Really?” Her heart skipped at the darkness in his eyes. His jaw worked silently for a moment, the world pausing as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I know,” Sansa grabbed his other hand, holding both tightly. “I can handle your womanizer father and a crazy aunt with her beefy husband who are weirdly our age. I’m on your side. If you go, I go with you.”

“It would make the whole thing . . . marginally more bearable,” Jon said.

“We can ask Margaery how best to mortify your relatives,” Sansa smiled, tugging him back into motion.

“If she’s loaning you dresses, I’m all in,” Jon said. Sansa laughed, watching a leaf fall in front of them. “You are going to need an evening gown if we go. It’s . . . It’s a whole- This is going to sound . . . so stupid.”

“What?” Sansa lifted her eyebrows in challenge. She could handle stupid. She had three brothers and Theon.

“This is one of the holidays,” Jon said slowly. “Where instead of a family dinner, we host a gala.”

“A gala,” Sansa repeated dully. She’d known that. She knew she’d known that. Awkwardness pulled Jon’s eyes from hers as she remembered. “The Targaryen Foundation Supporting Single Mothers Gala. The biggest gala of the King’s Landing season. The biggest event of the year in King’s Landing, capitol of the ‘civilized’ world.”

“Yeah,” Jon said weakly. She squeezed his hand tighter. “The _how do we hide payments to a Northern woman with a kid with no known father so she can move from Dorne to Winterfell_ gala, as it turns out. Go big or go home . . . it gets taken seriously in Targaryen world.”

He cleared his throat, and she struggled off the urge to hug him. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still coming.”

“There’s press.”

“And?”

Jon huffed out a breath. “And what if . . . What if your face ends up plastered on every tabloid in Westeros?”

“Last I heard, ex one was in a secure mental health facility,” said Sansa. “Ex two hasn’t been seen or heard from since I left him.” Jon flinched. “So what? No one’s ever plastered your face all over the tabloids. You’re always half cropped out or in the background.”

Jon gave her a weird look. “How do you-“

“I lived in King’s Landing the first time ‘dark-haired, pouty, long-time family friend’ visited,” Sansa said. She shrugged. “It was the first time I’d seen anything about you since I left home.”

She got a black eye when Joffrey found the tabloid in her dorm. Slipped and fell into the lower shower head in the handicap stall, she’d said, just absurd enough that people believed her. She never bought a tabloid again, but she always noticed when Jon hid behind the Targaryen-Martells in the photos.

“Sans,” Jon pulled her once more to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, then released her hand to touch her chin gently. “I don’t like that world very much. I don’t like the idea of you in it, either.”

“You go, I go,” she said resolutely.

“I’ll try to get a no-press notice in to my father, then,” Jon smiled a little. Sansa answered it immediately. “It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to while Rhae and Eggy give their little interviews.”

“Plus, I’ll need a fancy dress,” Sansa sang. Jon’s eyes brightened, his smile broadening into a grin that did funny, stupid things to her stomach. She stretched closer to him, ignoring the group of people splitting around them on the sidewalk with unsubtle coughs. “There seems to be a bright side after all, no?”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Yeah?” Sansa glanced at him. His cheeks were a little pink. Someone bumped into Sansa, shunting her forward a little. Jon steadied her, but his eyes followed the businessman with laser focus. Sansa made a bid for his attention before he could start something. “Do you want to help me pick it out? I think we should match.”

“Okay,” Jon said, gritting his teeth. Sansa rolled her eyes, starting off again. He kept pace easily. They paused in front of her building. “You’re gonna be all right for the rest of the day?”

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen,” Sansa said. He nodded stiffly. Jon moved away from her, his dark eyes scouring her face. “Jon?”

“I’ll pick you up from your office when I’m out,” he said. Sansa blinked. He’d never done so before. The apartment wasn’t far, and usually he walked or waited until she said she was ready, claiming there was always something to be done.

“Sure,” said Sansa. Jon did not walk away, did not so much as pull his hand from hers. They were stuck in the middle of the sidewalk, neither willing to move an inch. She could hear his phone vibrating, but he did not move, his eyes on hers as he sucked her into his living soul. “Jon?”

He jumped as though she’d struck him, diving forward quickly to kiss her cheek before backing away. “Sorry. I should. Yeah.”

He dug out his phone and answered it. “Jon Snow.”

Sansa sighed and returned to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some things I have for y'all to look forward to:  
> 1) Speaker phone with Rhaenys and Aegon  
> 2) Sansa lying to Marg and Arya about what she and Jon have done, as it were  
> 3) Protective Jon, then *ahem* some ~tension~  
> 4) Dress shopping  
> 5) Brunch with Dany and Drogo (Drogo is a great brunch date)  
> 6) Jon wants to beat up Littlefinger  
> Obviously I've just picked out an event from the next handful of chapters I have planned, and there's going to be more than this and these things aren't always the most important thing in that chapter, but you know. Air of mystery and all.  
> They do make out in at least one of these chapters, and once they start well it's hard to stop, isn't it? But where could that start? Hmmmmmmm.


	20. Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets on Sansa's nerves; Rhaenys speaks the truth and nothing but the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhae and Eggy are here to play, 'cept every time I type 'Rhae' it autocorrects to Rhaegar which is fun for me I guess (not really) so if you see that, know I almost definitely mean Rhaenys.  
> Hope y'all are staying safe and sane out there. I recommend a run, some Letterkenny, touch of homework (if you're in school) and a guided meditation.

Jon drove them home. Rhaenys and Eggy were jumping down his throat in the group chat, so Jon passed his phone to Sansa and let her answer for him. Theon was picking up pizza, so he didn’t have to worry about dinner for once. All he had to do was drive home without staring at Sansa.

_If you go, I go._

He’d complained about them once, to Ygritte. All she’d said was, “Fuck them. I’m not going any further South than I already have.”

And she didn’t. Wouldn’t even go to Riverrun when Jon met up with Rhaenys and Eggy. The family he actually liked.

“Eggy’s funny,” Sansa laughed quietly. She answered without telling Jon what he’d said. A few moments later, she giggled.

And Jon thought about her at Aegon Targaryen-Martell’s side, giggling. He’d always been more classically handsome than Jon. He might actually be a match for Sansa’s beauty. She’d fit in so well at all the fundraisers and benefits and-

She snorted. “He said, _If you come alone, they’ll all ask if you’re gay, which would help them with the fortune thing but also they’re homophobes so idk get like a Craig’s List date_. Can we tell them that I’m from Craig’s List?”

“No,” Jon grumbled. “I’m not going to let them judge you like that.”

Sansa sighed as Jon pulled into the apartment complex, “Oh, fine.” She let out a bark of laughter and began typing furiously, squeaking in her attempt to contain her laughter.

“What?” Jon asked as they parked.

“Shh, I’m typing,” Sansa said. She giggled furiously, and Jon turned the car off. “I’m a genius, Snow.”

“What’d you do?” Jon leaned over. Sansa showed him the message she’d typed. He laughed instantly. “You can’t! They’ll bring it up over dinner! In front of everyone!”

“Please?! I’m so proud of it!”

She written a text so absurdly dirty as to be hilarious. Especially considering it was a sext that he supposedly would send to her. If she sent it, the group chat would read:

_Rhaenys: Hey, he could be ace. Which is totally fine, id you are. Btw_

_Eggy: I could find a girl from work_

_Jon: I really don’t need help in that area_

_Rhaenys: We’re only teasing Jon, being single is fine_

_Eggy: Stop saying everything is fine_

_Eggy: But really, not having a SO is fine. Just fine_

_Rhaenys: Im gonna kill you in your sleep_

_Jon (unsent): And then, kitten, I’d push you into the mattress and kiss you from head to foot. Each and every toe. Just how you like it. Suck the big one into my mouth the way I would your clit, then kiss my way back up you..._

“Please, Jon, I just-“ Sansa stopped to laugh and take a deep breath. “They wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye!”

“We can just take a photo. And a screenshot,” Jon chuckled. Sansa pouted at him, her pleading eyes attacking him viciously. “Sans.”

“All right.” She took the screenshot and opened his camera. He slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning as she lifted the camera, beaming. She took a few photos, sending the best to the group chat. He kept his arm around her, watching for his siblings’ reaction.

_R: Who is that?!_

_R: fuxk, she’s hot_

_R: *fuck_

_R: You find a date for me Jonny boy?_

_E: Are you_

_E: He’s_

_E: I think my phone is broken_

_E: He photoshopped himself smiling Rhae_

_E: Right?!_

Jon laughed, even as Sansa leaned close and took another picture at the same time as she kissed his cheek. He met her eyes as she pulled away slightly. Her car was small. And it smelled like her and the lemon cakes they’d taken to work that morning. Her smile was ever so bright.

_Kiss her. Just do it. Well, ask. And then. If she says yes. Kiss her. Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her-_

A rap against the window had Jon jumping nearly out of his skin, drawing Sansa closer as his head whipped around to the driver’s side. Arya stood outside, cackling and doubled over. Margaery marched up and started dragging her away.

Sansa cleared her throat and he pulled away immediately, reaching into the back for his briefcase and grabbing the keys from the ignition. He and Sansa scrambled out together. She slipped her hand into his. He glared at Arya while she and Margaery waited for him to swipe them into the building. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

“I didn’t notice her,” Sansa mumbled. She was scarlet from neckline to the very tips of her ears. She sent the next photo to his siblings. “Sorry.”

“Scared the fuck out of me, that’s all,” he said.

“You’re too good at ruining things,” Margaery elbowed Arya. “Ten more seconds, and you wouldn’t be complaining about having no proof they’re together, Arya, they would’ve been halfway-“

“Marg.” Sansa squeezed his hand in time with her deep breath. Jon brushed a kiss against her temple, swiping the reader to open the elevator. Margaery and Arya waltzed in, still bickering lowly. Jon tugged Sansa in after them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Now who’s apologizing too much,” she answered under her breath. Jon leaned his cheek against her shoulder.

“You two used to argue more, I feel like,” Margaery said. Sansa turned her head to look back at her. “What? The ancient married couple bullshit has become newlywed bullshit. You’re all backwards.”

“I don’t like arguing in public; he’s better at it than I am,” Sansa said. The elevator stopped, and she surged out of it. Jon followed, digging through his pockets for his apartment keys.

“Mum’s gonna be disappointed,” Arya sang. Sansa tensed beside him. “All she’s ever said—don’t fall in love with a lawyer, you’ll never win an argument again. And here you are-“

“Arya,” Sansa’s low snap promised nothing if not violence. “Mum doesn’t get a say. Jon is _mine._ ”

He nearly dropped his keys. His face burned as he unlocked the apartment with one hand, the other clinging tightly to Sansa’s. He’d hear that until he’d die. _Jon is mine._ Yes, yes he was, this day to his last. Whatever promise she wanted of him, he’d make it.

 _Jon is mine_.

He opened the door to the apartment but didn’t stop there, pulling Sansa straight to his room.

 _Jon is mine_.

He wanted to press her up against the door and make her prove it, but she was fuming, setting her purse down beside the bed and throwing off her jacket. “Arya doesn’t give a flying- Gods, would she do anything to make herself right?!” Jon gaped as she lifted her feet to take off her heels. “She can’t just be happy for me? For you? It can’t be so impossible that she’s really clinging to this-“ She tugged at her top button, turning her back as she looked through his closet, which had been partially overtaken by her things. “I mean, honestly! She thinks if she nags me enough I’ll just say, oh sorry, of course we were lying-“

“Sans-“

“She can’t just figure out that you make me happy and whether or not she’s _seen us_ having sex isn’t of much consequence?” Sansa hissed. She unzipped her skirt, and Jon could not look away before it fell to the ground. He shut his eyes swiftly, clearing his throat loudly. “Honestly, she’d probably complain about seeing it-“

“Sansa.”

“What?”

“S-Stop undressing in front of me,” Jon said lowly. She was quiet a long moment.

“How long were you watching?”

“Don’t do that, you were decent until your skirt fell to the floor with no warning-“

“No warning?! The zipper is four inches long, I think that’s more than enough warning!”

“It’s not my fault you started just- just ripping your damn clothes off!”

“Yes- Well, I- Uhm . . .” Sansa cleared her throat. “You could’ve looked away.”

“My eyes are closed, aren’t they?”

Sansa let out a huff. He waited while hangers rattled and fabric rustled. She muttered something under her breath. “You can open your eyes now.”

“I won’t get castrated-“

“Jon,” Sansa sighed. He opened his eyes.

She was wearing one of his old shirts, and a pair of jean shorts that barely reached any further down her legs. Jon tried not to stare, really, he did, but she was so damn attractive.

She bent over to tuck her bra into her purse, and Jon had never seen a sexier thing in his life. “I’m- I was just trying to say that it’s frustrating that Arya doesn’t believe us.”

“I don’t think there’s any convincing her without staging something for her to walk in on—something more than we normally manage,” Jon said lowly.

“How more?” Sansa asked, blue eyes piercing. Jon shrugged.

“More than I’m comfortable with,” Jon lied. Because he’d hate himself forever if the first time he kissed her was for show.

“Oh,” Sansa said softly. Jon couldn’t read the expression that crossed her face. He just knew it was a bad sign. Especially as she straightened her spine, standing at her full height. “I guess I shouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Sansa,” he tried, but she blew past him, back to the kitchen, where Robb pulled the card table out of the closet under instruction from Arya and Margaery. He stopped, looking at Sansa, then Jon. Jon shook his head, tapping his chest twice before following her.

_My fault. I’ll fix it._

Theon arrived with the pizza before they’d located all the folding chairs, but they found the last hiding in Robb’s room and huddled around the little wobbly table to eat.

Jon spent most of dinner trying to ignore his phone and focus on ways to make Sansa’s little frown disappear, but the fourth time someone called him, he finally excused himself and retreated to his room.

“Hello?”

“Are you dating that girl?! Is she, like, actually real?! Are you paying her?!”

“Yes, yes, no,” Jon said. “Can you stop screaming now, Rhae?”

“Does she know about Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure she’s not-“

“Rhae, you know damn well what happens if you ask that question,” Jon said lowly. “She’s Robb’s little sister.”

“Robb’s sister wasn’t a redhead and was too young for you last I checked,” Rhaenys said suspiciously. Jon took a deep breath.

“She wasn’t at my mum’s funeral.”

“So, Dad doesn’t get a pass for that but-“

“She was locked in a house in King’s Landing with an abusive boyfriend that weekend,” said Jon, his fingers tightening around his phone involuntarily. _Joff wants me to stay here,_ she’d told Robb. They all knew what she really meant. _He won’t let me leave._ “So, yeah, she gets a fucking pass.”

“All right, easy, just trying to get a better sense of things,” she said.

“Jon?” Sansa pushed into his room. She glanced at the phone by his ear and frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Rhaenys,” he nodded, pulling the phone away slightly. “I’m okay.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Do you want me to save you anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

She lingered.

“Is that her?!” Rhaenys demanded. “Can I talk to her?! Let me talk to her!”

Judging by Sansa’s smile, she could hear Rhaenys’s tiny little voice. Jon groaned, “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Sansa slipped into his room fully, shutting the door behind her. Jon put the phone on speaker. “Hi, this is Sansa.”

“Sansa, Robb’s sister, Jon’s girlfriend, Sansa?”

“Just Sansa is fine,” she said.

“Eggy!” Rhaenys must’ve moved away from the phone, for even though she screamed, the sound was quiet and distant. “I got her on the phone!”

Sansa chuckled quietly, meeting Jon’s eyes. She looked so happy, so amused. He couldn’t help but smile. Her gaze skittered away from him, hands wringing in front of her. Jon’s stomach tightened at the sight.

“Sans-“

There was a muffled crash from Rhaenys’s end, then her most evil cackle. “Eggy just _fell!”_

“I’m in socks!” His brother’s voice came distantly. Jon couldn’t help the little chuckle that left him. Sansa smiled again. Then, closer but breathing hard, Eggy asked, “Did you do something to him to make him smile in those photos?”

“Exist,” Jon said. Sansa lifted her head slowly and beamed at him. His stomach did a little flip. Gods, he’d die happy if he got to see that look on her face just once more.

“I like his smile,” she said. Jon’s heart lurched in his chest.

“Oh, gah, they’re adorable, Rhae,” Eggy pretended to gag. “Well, now you have to come, because I don’t buy it, and I’ll tell Dany your girlfriend excuse is fake if you try to weasel out of it. If we have to go, so do you.”

“Don’t bring Dany into it!” Rhaenys said. Eggy groaned the way he often did after Rhaenys elbowed him in the gut. “You’re not allowed to go rogue, Eggy.”

“Don’t call me Eggy in front of the girl!”

“Oh, poor baby Eggsy, embarrassed by his nickname?” Rhaenys cooed.

Sansa laughed, still watching Jon. “I’m looking forward to meeting the both of you.”

The line was quiet so long that Jon checked to make sure they were still connected. Before he could test it, Rhaenys and Eggy started screaming over each other. Sansa kept on laughing, Jon joining in.

“Shut up!” Eggy finally shouted. “You’re actually coming? With a girl?! To the Feast of the Mother?! This year?!”

Jon laughed at how high-pitched his voice had gotten. “Yes, Eggy, I think so. I can’t afford a last minute flight-“

“You know damn well Dad’s had one booked for you since mid-summer,” Rhaenys cut in. He blinked, remembering dully a late night text informing him of it. He often forgot things about this part of his family. Usually it was intentional. “I’ll talk to him about the plus one for the flight and the gala, though.”

“I can pay-“

“No way in any hell, Sansy-pants,” Rhaenys said sharply. “I’ll pay for it if he won’t.”

Sansa’s amusement faded for the first time, a glare pulling her brows together. Rickon was the only human being on the planet allowed to call her that. Even Bran couldn’t get away with it. Jon swallowed, muting the microphone for a second. “I’d just like to point out that I’ve never told them anything about you before in my life, and that if you react to Sansy-pants now, she’ll never give it up.”

Glowering, Sansa nodded. Jon turned the mic back on. “I don’t want to have to tell him, and I don’t want you to have to tell him. Dany wants to have lunch with me when she gets in, I’ll let her know.”

“So, how long have you two been together?” Eggy asked.

“Two and a half months?” Jon said. Sansa shrugged in agreement. “Yeah. Around that.”

“Then why the fuck are we just now hearing about it?!” Eggy demanded.

“Cool it,” Rhaenys said smoothly. “It’s not our business.”

“We got drunk and slept together after two decades of pining, sort of came to our senses,” Sansa said. Jon cleared his throat, unable to look away from her. _If only_.

“You _came_ to your senses? Classy girl, Jon,” Rhaenys said slyly.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sansa protested. Jon chuckled under his breath, and her alarm faded slightly. Gods, how much did she trust him, to see there was no harm in Rhaenys’s words by his laughter alone. He took her hand, kissing the back of it gently.

“All right, I’ve got shit to do, see you soon, Jon. Sansa, a pleasure to hear your voice for the first time,” Eggy said.

“Pleasure was all mine.”

“Bye, Eggy,” Jon called.

“Bye!”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment. “I think you should’ve told him sooner.”

“I honestly just forgot-“

“My parents don’t even know,” Sansa broke in. “We aren’t really telling people unless we see them day to day. It’s not . . . You know, it’s not supposed to be a whole Thing. We’re just together.”

“I get it,” Rhaenys said. “But you guys don’t sound casual. You’re committed, and I don’t see the problem in people knowing you love each other. Nice to kinda meet you, Sansa. Talk to you later, Jon.”

She hung up.

Just hung up.

And left Jon and Sansa gaping at each other.


	21. Ladies' Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Margaery kidnap Sansa for a movie. Jon's family reaches out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a touch of a cliffhanger, if only because it's hella long and I've already split it in two once.

Sansa didn’t run per se. But, she didn’t exactly stay, either.

She was able to flee Jon’s room before he said anything, and once out in the common area, Arya and Margaery sucked her into some kind of feud with Theon and Robb that had Arya screaming about girls night and handing Sansa her shoes. Sansa leaned against the wall by the front door and put them on hastily, her fingers surprisingly steady as she tied perfect little knots. She met Jon’s eyes as he finally emerged from his room, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks were pink—surely that was a better sign than him being pale, wasn’t it?

She thought he was hot. Objectively true. He had a face and the muscles and the voice and . . . yeah, objectively hot. She thought he was intelligent and kind. Objectively true. He worked competently at a law firm and he’d never gotten lower than a B in any class and his hands were gently when . . . objectively intelligent and kind. She thought he was funny. Objectively true, if hard to dig out. His humor was dry, certainly, but that’s what she liked about it, that and his little smiles . . . She thought he was muscular in just the right way. Objectively true. He wasn’t veiny in any weird spots, but one look at him and anyone passing by on the street could tell that he was strong. Anyone could see all that about him. Or anyone talking to him.

Couldn’t they?

Or was she- was she in love with him?

As she finished tying her shoes, she couldn’t help but look at him as though he could tell her. Maybe he knew her well enough to see it. Was that good or mortifying?

“Sans,” he started forward.

“Nope, ladies’ night!” Arya hooked her arm through Sansa’s, pulling her out the door as Margaery held it open. She shut it judiciously and took Sansa’s other arm. They dragged her to the elevator and hit the down button.

“Wait, wait, what did I miss?” Sansa asked, shaking her head slightly. She needed to talk to Jon. She should go back and talk to Jon.

“Robb made an inappropriate joke,” Arya said. Sansa glanced at Margaery, who nodded firmly.

“That’s it?! Jon and I were in the middle of something!”

“Which I’m sure is why you came out of his room ready to bolt,” Margaery said lowly. Sansa swallowed, looking back down the hallway, but they dragged her into the elevator as soon as it opened.

“It wasn’t an inappropriate sex joke, it was a menstruation joke, so we decided that you would join us in solidarity against the patriarchy,” Arya said sharply. Sansa groaned.

“It’s not solidarity if you kidnap me!”

The doors opened before the ground floor, and they pulled her back into the corner as a guy on his phone wandered in. He barely even looked up to hit the ground floor button, then, seeing it lit, glanced around the elevator. He jumped as Margaery waved.

“My bad,” he returned his focus to his phone.

“Anyway,” Arya said. “We’re going to see that new _Charlie’s Angels_ movie because women deserve just as many shitty action movies as men, and then you and Marg are going to eat as much pasta as you can while I watch and eat a stupid fucking kale salad and contemplate the murder of my stupid Bravosi trainer.”

“We _just_ ate.”

Sansa glanced at Margaery again, only to find her nodding along serenely. She caught Sansa’s eye. “We never see you anymore, Sans. You’re always _in the middle of something_ with Jon.”

“This one is serious!” Sansa protested, pulling her phone from her pocket. If she could call Jon, hells, even text him, he’d be down the stairs and at the car before they were out of the elevator. It was instantly snatched away. “Arya!”

“Nope. Ladies’ night,” she said. Sansa made a move to grab for her phone, but Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa’s waist. Arya shifted further out of reach with a grimace. “Which, by the way, does _not_ mean we get to share sex things, because you both suck at picking dudes.”

Margaery’s grip on Sansa loosened. “He’s _your_ brother!”

“Exactly!”

Sansa didn’t bother to say anything as they fell into bickering about Robb. Jon wasn’t like the others. He was probably the only guy she’d ever picked who _didn’t_ suck. Gods, no wonder she couldn’t figure out if she was in love with him or not. Did she even _know_ what that was meant to feel like?

“Arya, I think this one is big,” said Margaery softly. Sansa shook her head. She could never say the right thing around Jon anyway. Better to leave it. Wasn’t it? But this was something little, if she’d just stayed and laughed it off, it would be fine. Now, it was a Thing. She hated it when things became a Thing. They tugged her out of the elevator carefully. “Sansa, don’t tell me he L-worded you.”

“No!” Sansa blurted. The guy in front of them all but bolted out the entry door ahead of them. She didn’t blame him. They pulled her toward Margaery’s car.

“You L-worded him and he didn’t say it back?!”

“I’ll kill him!”

“No, definitely _not_ on both counts!” Sansa wrangled Arya closer. “And besides that, if he _did_ , all that means is he wasn’t ready and that he needs more time, which does not justify murder!”

Arya grumbled indistinctly. They piled into Margaery’s car, Sansa shoved into the back and child-locked in. She groaned, dropping her head back against the headrest. “Dad’s gonna get you both on kidnapping.”

“Jon’ll get us off,” Margaery said brightly. As she backed up, she made a face. “Not like that. _That_ kind of getting off is reserved for you, I’m sure.”

“So if there’s been no L-wording, what’s the crisis?” Arya asked. Sansa smacked her head back a few times. “Buckle up.”

“Gah,” Sansa did as she was told despite her irrational urge to spite her sister just because. Once buckled, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the ceiling. “We were on the phone with his- with Rhaenys-“

“Okay, why did you _almost_ explain her relation to Jon and stop, I’m new to the secret love-child group thing,” Margaery said. “And I don’t pay as much attention to tabloids as people assume.”

“Rhaegar, Viserys, Daenerys are all Aerys’s kids, he died decades ago,” Sansa said. “Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell for like twenty years. There’s some _shit_ there that Jon won’t talk about. Uh . . . They had Rhaenys and Aegon, who’s actually Eggy, so they’re Jon’s half-siblings only he never calls them that because he actually likes them. Anyway, _she_ said it, and I don’t think either one of us was expecting it.”

“It?”

“The L-word?”

“Yeah.”

“In reference to each other?”

“Yeah.”

The car was quiet. Margaery started off toward the nearest movie theater. Sansa swallowed, twisting her neck to stretch. She didn’t feel so bad for not knowing what to say if it was taking Arya and Margaery so long to figure it out themselves. She drummed her fingers against her thigh for a few moments. She had to say _something_ to him, though.

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Nope.”

“So, neither you nor Jon are ready for the L-word?”

_It’s all a lie. Or it was supposed to be._

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Sansa muttered.

“Ignoring it will make things weird,” Arya said. Sansa closed her eyes. She just wanted to talk to Jon. Explain that- Explain what? What was she supposed to say? “Oh, good lord. He’s _calling you!_ ”

“What?!” Sansa lurched forward, grabbing around the seat at her sister. “Give me my phone!”

“It’s _ladies’_ night!”

“I’m trying to drive!”

“Give me the phone!”

Sansa found it and ripped it toward her. It fell onto the floor behind Margaery’s chair. She grabbed it hastily, answering before the call could drop. “Hi.”

“Hey, I just- Are you all right?”

“Arya took my phone,” Sansa said. Embarrassment flooded through her as she realized she was panting. “I’m fine-“

“You’re ruining ladies’ night, Snow!” Arya screeched, turning in her seat to look back at Sansa. “Hang up!”

“Listen, I’m all for hitting Robb-“

“Up yours, Snow!” Robb called distantly. Sansa smiled, watching out the window as they moved through the city.

“-but Arya is literally a completely different beast,” Jon said. She could hear him smiling, too.

“I can handle her,” Sansa said, laying down across the seat with her head farthest from Arya’s grabbing hands. “I . . . feel like we need to talk.”

“About what Rhae said, yeah,” Jon said. There was an odd period of time where neither spoke. There were things Sansa wanted to say—things she likely needed to. But Arya was two feet away. And she’d die alone before she let Arya be right, or at least, _know_ she was right. “When you get back?”

“Only if you’re sober,” Sansa said carefully. She didn’t need him babbling about nonsense and apologizing for it instead of actually talking. She was good at managing Jon while exhausted, but exhausted and drunk and anxious was a lot if she was going to be sober. “It’s just-“

“No, that’s a deal,” he let out a breath she could hear all too well. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m too tired anyway, I think Theon was trying to go out, but not even Robb is biting.”

“Jon, you’ve been working a lot-“

“It’s just this case, it’s a little while longer, then we’ll be fine,” Jon said. He cleared his throat quietly. “I’ll be fine, I mean.”

Sansa swallowed thickly. Arya and Margaery started talking lowly, and Sansa could feel Arya’s concerned eyes on her.

“I didn’t mean to run out,” she whispered.

“I know,” Jon said. “It’s not your fault you were kidnapped.”

“Stop being cute back there, we hate men tonight!” Margaery yelled. Jon chuckled lowly.

“What did Robb say?” He asked.

“I really don’t know,” Sansa said, feeling the corners of her mouth tug upward. “They just sort of decided things for me, which sounds like something _a man would do.”_

“Sansa! Hang up!”

“There she goes again-“

“Wait, what?!” Jon snapped on the other end, quieter than he had been. He must’ve pulled his phone away from his face. Sansa heard Robb indistinctly. “You idiot!”

“What happened?”

“He said Marg and Arya have been living together so long that their ‘bitch cycles’ have synced up,” Jon said. Sansa felt her mouth drop open. He’d actually _said that?_ “And Theon _agreed?!_ ”

“It was funny!” She heard him say distantly. “Jokes are _funny_ , Snow!”

“It would’ve have been as bad if you hadn’t lost it!” Robb yelled.

“Ow! Hey, you’re the one that fucking said it!”

“Too bad Robb’ll have Theon on the ropes in about ten seconds. Idiots,” Jon snickered into the phone, and Robb and Theon’s scrap got more distant. She heard a door shut. Sansa cleared her throat, sitting up. Margaery turned to look back at her as they stopped at a light.

Her mind sparked on the first thing that came to her and her mouth moved without much in the way of permission. “Jonathon Aemon Snow, if you beat the living crap out of Robb, you could be the only guy in the group who gets head tonight.”

“Fuck yeah, get his ass, Jon!”

“I DON’T NEED THAT MENTAL IMAGE SANSA!”

“Have fun,” Sansa said brightly. She hung up before Jon could say a word.

“Seriously, Jon’s dick in your mouth is precisely the imagery I’m trying not to imagine tonight!” Arya protested. Sansa rolled her eyes, reaching forward to smack her sister as she gagged. “Ah! I’m imagining it!”

“You know how to game the system,” Margaery smirked. She started as the light turned green. “You know, Sans, I hope you’re using my tips. Keep him happy, keep you happy.”

“Great, now _I’m_ picturing you giving _Robb_ a double fishhook,” Sansa coughed. She shuddered at the thought.

“ _We don’t speak of that!”_

“A what?!”

Sansa sat up, tucking her phone away safely between her thighs and holding one elbow to her mouth as she hacked her life away. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to stop Arya if she got determined about taking her phone again. She met Margaery’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. Sansa’s coughing turned into a bark of laughter, then she dissolved thoroughly into giggles. “You did not!”

“What am I missing?”

Though laughing herself, Margaery bit out, “Never mind, we swore _never to speak of it-“_

“You both suck,” Arya groaned.

“What if he tells Jon?” Sansa wheezed at the thought of Jon even mentioning the double fishhook to her. The look on his face—it would be priceless. Margaery snorted at the wheel, turning into a parking structure. “What if Jon expects me to-“ Sansa hacked through another bout of laughter. “You gave my brother the double fishhook!”

Margaery explained to Arya as they parked. Sansa waited in the backseat until they remembered to open the door for her. She clambered out and doubled over, still giggling furiously.

“Wait, wait,” Arya hooked her arm through Sansa’s and helped her move toward the elevator down. Margaery led them. “You’re saying, two fingers-“

“Yup.”

“And eye contact-“

“Uh-huh.”

“And you were so drunk-“

“I was convinced there was no other way to fit his dick in my mouth,” Margaery nodded.

“You fucking hoe,” Arya shook her head.

“Not my fault you grew up sheltered,” Margaery tossed her hair over one shoulder. They piled into another elevator. Sansa’s stomach lurched as they dropped four stories. “Try it once with Gendry. You do _kinda_ have to be drunk for it to work, but only because you have to convince yourself to do it.”

“Why are you not advocating that Sansa do it?”

“Because, as far as I know, she’s never even had sex before. She’s pure. Innocent. I hear _you_ at it like a rabbit all the time,” Margaery said. They moved out onto the street, turning right to head toward the movie theater.

“I’ve had sex,” Sansa grumbled.

“You haven’t had good sex until Jon, though, so does it really count?” Margaery said.

“ _Yes,_ because I _am_ having good sex with Jon,” Sansa countered.

“I thought you had no evidence that she’d had sex at all,” Arya pretended not to hear her. Sansa reached around Margaery to try and pinch her, but she danced away gracefully. Sansa stuck her tongue out at her. “For all we know, I could be right after all and they’re faking all the hopelessly in love mumbo jumbo.”

“Arya,” Sansa warned.

“I’ve said before: you’re being stingier than normal with the details,” Margaery said. “Maybe Arya has a point.”

“I’ve never told you much of anything,” Sansa groused.

“Because you never had anything good to say,” Arya muttered darkly. Margaery opened the door to the theater for her. They got in line for tickets.

“She’s right,” Margaery said. “I’ve never known you while you were . . . having sex ‘cause you . . . wanted to.”

Sansa saw her wince at her own words. She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward into the way. She clenched her phone in her hands, wishing for all the world that she was back in Jon’s room helping him read case law or something.

A heavy pause overcame them. Sansa swallowed. She was going to have to come up with some juicy details if she wanted to save ladies’ night. What was consistent with her character but not too consistent? Would Jon hate her for her lies? Would they tell him? He’d roll with it if mentioned. He was good at that. And she’d warned him day one that she might make things up about them in bed. Gods, for all she knew, they were going to get back to the apartment and Arya would start recounting things just to make Robb suffer.

If she didn’t blush when she said it, they’d know. Sansa knew it like she knew her hair was red. It had long been her tell, and Margaery and Arya both knew her more than well enough to pick up on it.

“Three for _Charlie’s Angels,_ ” Margaery said, the brightness in her voice fake beyond reason.

They got a popcorn and found their seats. They were early, absurdly early. It wasn’t even trailers, but that idiotic entertainment fluffed up behind the scenes nonsense.

It gave Sansa enough time to come up with a plan.

“So. Dish,” Arya said.

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“Well, I don’t, but I’m not ready to give up on being right, so . . . All the glorious details, if it please you,” Arya pretended to tip a nonexistent hat and bow in her seat. Sansa rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. Sitting between Arya and Margaery made sense, but it was also going to suck.

“He- oh, gods, you can’t make fun of him for this,” Sansa could already feel her face warming. So what, if she had to dig down into her best Jon fantasies? It wasn’t like she’d be able to burn through all of them. He’d never know all the debauched things she wanted him to do to her. If Arya told him a few, that wasn’t the end of the world. But should she then pick her favorites or least favorites? Not that any were bad.

“Dish!” Margaery hissed.

“He likes oral,” Sansa said carefully. That was easy enough. If he actually liked her, which was less and less a doubt that nagged at her, she was almost certain he _wanted_ to eat her out.

“What guy doesn’t?” Arya wrinkled her nose.

“I was promised juicy details.”

“No- He likes _giving_ oral,” Sansa clarified. Twin smirks grew on either side of her.

“I knew it.”

“Sh!”

“He’ll kneel at the end of the bed and put my legs over his shoulders and just-“ Sansa was burning. She was sure of it. She would burn in seven different hells for all eternity. “He’s good, too. Not the guy who does it for half an hour and gets you nowhere. He’s- He’s good. And the fingers, he knows when and where-“

“Oh, you’re getting so flustered,” Margaery pressed the back of her hand to Sansa’s cheeks. “What else does he do?”

“Marg,” she whined. She shifted in her chair. “Now I wanna go home and-“

“Sit on his face, we get it,” Arya said. “What about the actual sex? He kind of strikes me as a look-you-in-the-eye missionary kind of guy.”

“Arya, try to remember that some people are more _adventurous_ than you and actually bother to do different things in the bedroom,” Margaery said.

“Yeah, but when you wake up horny in the middle of the night there tends to be a go-to,” Arya said. Margaery leaned forward.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Margaery hissed. “You fuck before bed so you can actually sleep through the night.”

“Well, yes, but if you wake up-“

“You roll the fuck over and go back to sleep,” Margaery said. “No dick is worth losing that much sleep over.”

“We’re getting off track!” Arya proclaimed. Sansa elbowed her, gesturing around at the cinema. Arya rolled her eyes. “Is Jon a missionary man or what?”

“Not generally,” Sansa mumbled, shaking her head. Arya’s mouth dropped open. “Really, it’s not that impressive, Arya.”

“Do you go on top?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh, another sex first for Jon,” Margaery nudged Sansa a little. Sansa felt her face burn as she wiggled down into her seat further. “What about our good old-fashioned doggies?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“You?” Arya shuddered as though seizing. “Oh, my gods. Holy shit, _you-_ I- I’m- I can’t believe you _let him-“_

“I trust Jon, Arya,” Sansa muttered.

“I’m learning _way_ too much about you.”

Margaery laughed. “Hands and knees or-“

“Pressed into the bed,” Sansa whispered. “He’s warm and heavy and it’s- it’s like he’s the only thing that exists.”

“Flat iron?” Sansa nodded, her lips pursed together. Margaery squealed in delight. Arya looked like her world was crashing down around her. Sansa would have to be careful about what they all talked about the next time Arya was over drinking. Though, with her new trainer, she probably wasn’t allowed to drink.

“What’s that? Do I want to know?”

Margaery googled it for her, passing her the diagram. It was one of Margaery’s favorites, though Sansa had never personally experienced it. The receiving party laid on their stomach with a pillow under their hips, up on their elbows or hanging over the end of the bed. (“Shit gets _real_ when a man tells you to put a pillow somewhere.”) The giving party penned their legs in, either standing on their knees or bent over the receiver. Sansa was curious about it. She thought she might like the idea of being surrounded and filled by Jon all at once.

Gods, this was some sort of line crossed from which there was no going back, wasn’t it?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she wiggled it free. It was a text from Jon. There was another from an unknown number. She dismissed the notification without reading it.

_I’m going to wait to beat up Robb until you’re here to personally verify it. Lull him into a false sense of security._

Sansa smiled. _Hold up your end of the deal and I’ll hold up mine._

_Ha ha. Very funny._

_Keep doubting me. See what happens_ 😉

“Was that a winking emoji,” Margaery leaned in. Sansa showed her the conversation. Margaery tapped her chin for a moment, then grinned. “May I?”

“Don’t break him,” Sansa sighed.

Margaery bit her tongue as she typed something, erased it all, and tried again. Sansa and Arya judged the nonsense presenter on her dumb robot voice. “No! Shit!”

“What?!” Sansa refocused on Margaery instantly.

Margaery shoved Sansa’s phone in between her legs. Sansa lifted her eyebrows. “Um. I- um- I . . . Because of muscle memory . . . MighthavesentJonthetextbeforeshowingittoyouandImsorry.”

“What?”

“I hit send. On accident. Without letting you see.”

“What’d you say?” Sansa held out her hand, panic quickly coursing through her. What’d she say, what’d she say, what’d she say?

Margaery winced, pulling the phone out from between her thighs. She set in in Sansa’s palm. Sansa unlocked it.

_You’re fronting for your friends. Or this is Margaery. Or Arya took your phone again. Tell Sansa I say hi._

_Maybe I just can’t stop thinking about your cock in my mouth. Wouldn’t be the first time X_

“That’s not the worst thing you could’ve said,” she whispered lowly. Her eyes read the message (delivered!) over and over. _Your cock in my mouth_. Had she contemplated the idea? Maybe. Yes. Had she ever intended to tell Jon, whether his cock ended up in her mouth or not? No. Not at all.

“I mean, he knows he’s getting a blowjob anyway, right?”

“Yeah,” Sansa lied. Margaery reached over to touch her cheek again.

“I forgot you don’t like the word cock.”

“I just- I don’t talk like that,” Sansa muttered.

“Movie’s starting.”

“Turn your phone off.”

“Shh!”

_That was Marg._

“Turn it off!”

“Please silence all electronic devices now.”

“Sansa!”

( _Delivered_ )

She let out a slow breath and turned her phone off for the movie.

She liked the movie. Margaery smacked her thigh once for every second Noah Centineo was on screen. Sansa smacked her back when she said he looked vaguely like a tall Jon. Arya asked if Margaery needed glasses.

Sansa wasn’t a very big action movie person, but it kept things moving fairly well. Arya, as always, spent every fight scene muttering under her breath about what was being done wrong. It was only mildly terrifying.

They returned to the car, chatting amicably about Margaery’s chances of sleeping with Kristen Stewart (unfortunately low). Sansa turned her phone back on as they debated the double-twist, whether it made sense with or without the suspension of disbelief.

Jon hadn’t texted her anything. Sansa bit her lip. Was she disappointed? He hadn’t read Margaery’s obscenities. That was good. Right? But he probably had. And he’d said nothing. Except she’d clarified. Not so bad.

“Are we going back to the boys’ or heading home?” Margaery asked as they pulled out of the parking garage.

“Doesn’t Sansa have unfinished business with Jon?” Arya asked slyly. Sansa sighed, slumping over across the back seat. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” Sansa said. She could hear the disappointment in her own voice. She knew then what she wanted of him: an answer, a playful answer that ignored their pretending as she did and implied he’d be perfectly happy to let her come home and pleasure him. Something that forced her to read between the lines. Vague but encouraging, dancing around the thing they both wanted.

Except _I just can’t stop thinking about your cock in my mouth_ wasn’t exactly the most subtle thing. It was the exact opposite.

“Right, to the boys’ it is,” Margaery said. “Let’s go whoop some motherfucking ass. They’re not getting away with this shit. If we can’t rely on Jon to get them, we’ll do it our fucking selves.”

“Have I ever mentioned that I love you?” Arya asked brightly. Sansa watched them fist bump and sighed.

“It’s a secure building. We can’t get in without one of them,” she muttered.

“Call Jon then.”

“He didn’t answer my text. I can’t call him,” Sansa said.

“Why not?”

“I can’t send two unanswered texts in a row and then call him,” she said. She checked her email real quick. A Pinterest thing from her mom. A couple of online deals from places she used to shop.

An email from viserys.targaryen@targfoundation.org. She didn’t open it. Didn’t even glance at the preview at first. She tried to work through Jon’s family tree. Viserys? Uncle, wasn’t he? Was he the one that had been disinherited?

_Shit_ what was that text she’d gotten? She pulled open her messaging app, texting Jon: _Why’ve I got an email from the Targaryen Foundation?_

Her hands shook as she opened the unknown number’s text. She could all but feel the blood draining from her face. _Sansa Stark. You’d do well to use that cunt of yours to keep the bastard out of King’s Landing and out of our business. I’m afraid I’d have to take a trip to Winterfell otherwise._

Sansa dropped her phone, staring at it where it landed between her feet. She tucked her hands under her thighs to make them still. Her breath came in ever more shallow bursts.

“Sans?” Arya said softly. “You all right? You dropped your phone.”

“Yeah,” she forced herself to pick the thing up. She screenshotted the text and sent it to Jon. _That’s Viserys right?_

“I’m going to call Robb, then,” Margaery said. Sansa opened her email againg and stared at the address. At the brief preview beneath the bolded letters. “Honey before vinegar and what not.”

Her mind leapt from word to word, missing the ones between _slut, whore, wolf bitch,_ and _wanton Northern savage._ She opened the email with a trembling touch. She took a screenshot of it, vile as it was. She needed to be taken seriously. If Jon’s father had anything to do with this, she was going to sue the Targaryen Foundation. They didn’t get to do this to her before they’d ever met her.

She followed Margaery and Arya like a ghost, barely acknowledging the weird looks Robb gave her as they ascended to his floor. She was shaking, her mind racing.

How did they already know about her? Were Rhaenys and Eggy not the only two Jon had told? Who else knew, and what did they know?

Why was a man emailing abuse at her from a charity organization’s domain? How’d he find her full name and phone number?

“Sans, you all right?” Robb asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. The last thing she needed was him butting in. She looked away from her phone to give him a small smile. “I was just thinking about texting Dad.”

“Gah, you’re so dramatic,” Arya groaned. “Just fucking text him, he doesn’t hate you.”

“Doesn’t like me either,” Sansa muttered, making a new message. Gods, what was she supposed to say? _I’ve been secretly dating Jon because Mum doesn’t like him and you don’t like me except now his famous, rich family wants me to die before he has a chance to get me pregnant._ That was probably too much.

“Sansa,” Robb sighed. “Dad loves you.”

“I know,” Sansa said, taking a shaking breath. “Still doesn’t mean he likes me.”

_I know it’s been a while. Jon and I are dating. His family found out. I think I might be in trouble._ She sent him the screenshots with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet y'all weren't expecting that #NedDrama.


	22. Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa both make contact with their sperm don- ahem, fathers. Their fathers.

She didn’t see Jon in the common space and marched toward his room without acknowledging Theon’s handful of questions. He hadn’t gone out then. The light in Jon’s room was on, so she didn’t need to worry about knocking.

Robb tried to grab her, but Arya stepped into the way. “Sansa, wait a second!”

“Don’t need you,” she answered shortly, throwing Jon’s door open. She shut it behind her, louder than intended.

Jon was lying on his back, a legal pad beside him and book on case law open over his stomach. His glasses were crooked across his face. Sansa immediately regretted storming in as he started, looking at her blearily, glasses falling from his face. He tried to push them back on but succeeded only in hitting himself in the face as they fell into his lap. Sansa felt her shoulders relax, if only slightly.

“Shit,” he shook his head slightly, rubbing beneath his eyes. “What time is it?”

Sansa shrugged, holding in place at the door. If she went to him, she’d crumble to pieces, and her mind was racing too much for that. “How does Viserys know?”

“Vis-“ Jon blinked at her, eyebrows slowly coming together until a little line formed between them. A scowl dragged his mouth downward. His voice lowered into something feral that she should’ve been able to take pleasure in. Instead, dread curled through her even more thoroughly. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at this,” Sansa tossed her phone into his lap. The screenshots were open. Jon threw his glasses back on. “He emailed my personal account. He fucking _texted me!”_ Jon shoved the book off himself, closing it as he read. His scowl deepened, but his eyes never left her phone, swiping back and forth through the screenshots. Sansa dropped her hands to her hips so they wouldn’t shake. “How the hell does he know who I am?!”

“Rhae and Eggy wouldn’t have told him,” said Jon. He didn’t look at her, eyes dancing across the screen of her phone again and again. His knuckles turned white where he gripped it. His next words were careful, but she knew rage all too well. “Someone fucked up.”

“It wasn’t either of us,” Sansa said carefully. He didn’t look at her. “Jon.”

“How did he find you?” Jon ground out. Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. It was a damn good question, and if Jon didn’t know, he must’ve trusted his half-siblings even more than she’d thought. “Nobody . . . _Nobody_ I know would have . . .”

She saw on his face where his thoughts had drifted. He’d been sold out. Or she had. But he was the target, indirect or not. _Keep the bastard out of King’s Landing._ She clenched her jaw. She’d agreed to go South with him, no more, and nobody but Rhaenys and Aegon even knew she was coming. Jon hadn’t even told Daenerys yet.

_They’ll try to rip into you._

“Your dad texted you,” he held the phone out to her. She took it.

_How does his family know you’re sleeping with Jon to begin with? How long have you been dating Jon, and why haven’t your mother and I heard any of it? You promised to keep us informed about your life._

“Shit,” Sansa muttered. She could practically hear her father saying it. Jon pushed the legal pad and book to the floor, grabbing his phone from the carpet. _Jon and I told his siblings early today. We don’t know about Viserys._

_You promised, Sansa Stark, that your mother would be informed of the important events in your life._

Sansa clenched her teeth. _Jon isn’t an event. THIS is an event._

_Sansa Lyarra._

Jon coughed rather aggressively, shifting on the bed. Sansa glanced at him, found him gaping, red faced, at his phone. “You let Marg send that?!”

“No!” Sansa blurted. “She just kinda did. And I meant to-“

“I thought you were joking.”

“I _was!”_

“No, I meant within the pretending, I thought you were joking,” Jon said quietly. He stacked his work things up without looking at her.

“Jon,” she sighed. Her phone buzzed.

_Don’t leave your apartment unless you have to. I’ll talk to Rhaegar and Dayne. You talk to your mother or we’ll be there in an hour to take you home._

_I’m staying at Jon’s._

_Then don’t leave his place. Talk to your mother. I know where he lives._

Sansa flinched, not bothering to respond. She swallowed, wiping at her screen for a moment. “Who’s Dayne?”

“Arthur Dayne,” Jon said. “He’s on my father’s security detail, has been for decades. He was one of my mum’s best friends, too, and he went to the hospital with her when I was born. He used to pop in all the time when we were in Dorne, ‘fore we moved to Winterfell. There’s . . . There’s pictures of us all. He came to visit a few times.”

“Oh,” Sansa wiped her phone on her shirt, frowning. “Wasn’t he there that day you and Robb fell out of the tree?”

“Yeah,” Jon nodded. He fiddled with his phone. “You thought he was my dad.” His phone buzzed in his hands, and he jumped a little. He rubbed at the nape of his neck as he answered whatever text he’d gotten. “Your mum is going to murder me before the Feast is over.”

“She can’t do that until we get back from King’s Landing; we could always extend our stay,” Sansa said. With as many holidays as she’d missed with her family, what was one more? Jon clenched his jaw, looking up at her. She shook her head. “No. I’m still going.”

“Sans, it’s already bad enough and-“

“I’m not leaving you to the vultures,” Sansa said sharply. “And I’m not letting them win. We’re going.”

“If Viserys is desperate enough to threaten you, he could be desperate enough to hurt you,” Jon said, rolling off the bed to his feet. “If he tries something while I’m in King’s Landing, I don’t want you anywhere near it. You aren’t coming.”

“Then you aren’t going!” Sansa snapped.

“Sansa!”

“I’m not fucking around, Jon!” Sansa shouted. “I’m not leaving you!”

“It’s not safe!”

“Then it’s not safe for you either! _I’m_ not the one who stands to inherit anything!”

Jon’s phone buzzed, then again. He clenched his fists and picked it up from the bed. “Fuck.” He answered it, closing his eyes and turning his back on her. “Hi, Dad.”

Sansa let out a huff of breath, checking her own phone. Her mother had texted. _Robb said you were spending nights at the apartment but failed to mention you were sharing a bed with Jon._

“Why today?” Sansa asked her phone. The screen gave no answers, only another text from her mother. _That day Jon was driving you around, was that before or after you started sleeping together?_

“No, Dad, I’m fine . . . Yes, we’re both fine, relatively,” Jon said. “No, I’m tired from work, I have a big case. . . . I know, Dad. You don’t have to worry. . . . Dad, I’m planning on coming to the Feast of the Mother—with Sansa. I know it’s super last minute but I was talking to Rhae and Eggy and- . . . Really? You’re sure?”

 _After_ , Sansa replied to her mother. _The first morning after._

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Dad,” Jon said, almost laughing. Almost. “Yeah, I know.”

_Sansa, that makes it sound like you’ve slept with him_

_That’s because I did. Jon is nice, he’s good and kind and brave. I trust him, and I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m damaged or about to be murdered by the next man to stumble my way. I’m going to King’s Landing for the Feast of the Mother with him, I’m meeting his family. You’d better hope they hate me half as much as you hate Jon or you won’t be seeing me any more often than you already do._

Sansa groaned as soon as she hit send, turning her phone off. She threw it on the bed, biting her lip as hard as she could. She knew what she was going to get. A series of _I raised you better_ and _you should have just told me_ and _we’re worried about you, come home_ and _we never see you anymore_ and _come visit your little brothers for a few days_. She didn’t want to go anywhere, not without Jon. And she doubted Jon would be invited along.

“Sansa, what did you do to Mum?!” Robb shouted from the living room. She shook her head, staring at her phone on the bed. She dug her fingernails into her own arms.

_I don’t see the problem in people knowing you love each other._

Screw _people_. She needed fucking _Jon_ to know.

“Yeah, talk to Ned about it,” Jon said. Sansa rolled her eyes. “I- I have to go Dad. . . . Yeah, yeah, she is. . . . Thanks, Dad.”

Sansa turned and glared at the closet, putting her back to Jon as she tried to take an even breath. Just one. Numbly, she said. “My parents don’t like me very much right now.”

“Sansa,” he sighed, touching her shoulder gently. She shook her head.

“My dad thinks I’m a boring six-year-old,” Sansa said dully. “He’s barely been able to look me in the eye since I hit puberty. Arya, _Arya_ he can talk to, but me? Well, that’s about as valuable a conversation as one with a wall.”

“Sans,” Jon stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Your father loves you.”

“People keep saying that like that means he has to like me- He- He only ever talks to me to say that Mum wants something,” Sansa scoffed. “And she thinks I’m a whore at the moment.”

“No, she thinks I’m manipulating you,” Jon said. Sansa frowned, chancing a look at him. He didn’t look angry, but she could tell it bothered him. “She thinks . . . That I came to you and I said _hey, remember when you called Theon, and I, of my own free will, came with and carried you out of your shitty ex’s house because you couldn’t walk and then stayed to beat the shit out of him? You should sleep with me._ She thinks I’ll make you think you owe me something. But that’s not how it works.”

“Are you sure?” Sansa asked, tilting her head against hers. “Because I’ve done a lot of thinking just now and realized I should get naked for you whenever you so desire it.”

“Very funny,” Jon kissed the side of her head, then tugged her into a real hug. “I know you’re scared.”

“You’re scared, too,” Sansa said, curling her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. She tugged his hair free of its tie. “You talked to your dad, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jon murmured, pulling back. “There’s some kind of business convention here in Winterfell in a few days. Dad is going to send someone extra to look around and make sure we’re safe. Viserys is mean, but he’s not very skilled in anything, and he doesn’t have the money to hire anyone who _is_ skilled. Dad will take care of it.”

“You sound like you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid,” Sansa smiled a little. Jon grinned.

“He was in the middle of a meeting with the board when he saw your dad’s text. He stepped out. He made them wait so he could talk to me,” Jon said. Sansa touched his chin gently, leaning her forehead against his. “He’s actually trying.”

“Took him long enough,” Sansa said, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Everything.”

“Eventually, you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Jon took her hand from his jaw, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “I’ve gotta go beat up Robb.”

“Wait, what?” Sansa stepped back, watching suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because you promised me a blowjob if I did in front of Arya and Marg. If I don’t, they’ll _definitely_ think somethings up, and Arya’s already gotten on your nerves enough for one day. And he yelled at you through the wall,” Jon tried to get to the door, but Sansa stepped into his way. “What?”

“You don’t think you’re using physical aggression to create a situation where you have control?”

“Course I am, it’s called ‘coping.’” He touched a hand to her waist, kissing her cheek. She grabbed his shirt faster than he could push past her, pivoting them so his back was to the door instead. He raised his eyebrows, waiting. Concern lingered in his eyes as he watched her, and Sansa wondered if he could tell how unsettled she still was.

“There are better situations where you can be in control,” Sansa said lowly. Jon’s eyes dipped down her and back up. Warmth spread down her neck into her chest.

If she was going to ruin her relationship with her mother over the fact that she’d slept with Jon, she may as well actually do it, right?

“Yeah?” Jon breathed. “And what do you suggest, Sans?”

“Something a little more fun.” Something a little more distracting, so they didn’t have to think about their blasted families. Something that maybe she should have done weeks ago.

“Fun?” He was so damn close, his eyes dark. Sansa watched him lick his full lips. “Fun how?”

“You tell me. I thought you wanted _control_.”

“I know what I want.” His nose brushed against hers. Cruel—it was cruel of him to come so close and do no more. “What do _you_ want?”

“I-“ He knew, didn’t he? He could tell? Sansa refused to play into his hands so easily, even with his proximity clouding her ability to think. What _did_ she want? “I don’t know.” _Liar, liar, liar. Don’t make me say it._

“Okay,” he said, low enough that her core tightened. Her eyes fluttered closed as he came closer still, lips against her cheek. “Then you don’t know yet.”

_Yet. Liar. Yet. Liar, liar, liar-_

_Kiss me-_

He was gone, then, the door opening before her eyes could. Sansa’s mouth fell open and she had half a mind to yell at him to _come back here, damn it,_ but he was moving quickly, toward where Arya and Margaery were ganged up on Robb, arguing. She hadn’t even heard them.

“You guys all right in there?” Margaery asked, turning to meet Sansa’s eyes. “Sansa, love, you look like you got hit by a car-“

“I’m holding up my end of the deal,” Jon proclaimed. Robb squinted at him.

“And that means?”

“Jon’s on _my_ side,” Arya sang.

“Shit,” Robb groaned.

Jon dragged Robb to the ground, and they rolled across it like idiots. Arya laughed at them; Margaery watched with wide eyes and her hands clapped over her mouth. Sansa came forward, leaning against the doorway to Jon’s room with her arms crossed over her chest. She chewed on her cheek as Jon and Robb scrapped. Arya stood on the couch and called advice to Jon while Margaery came to stand next to Sansa.

“We heard you shouting,” she said quietly. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“He’s not mad at me,” Sansa answered. “He’s just trying to work some energy off.”

“Fucking’s good for that.”

“Not with you lot hanging about waiting to burst in for _proof,”_ Sansa said.

“I’m sorry,” Margaery said. She gnawed on her lip, watching Jon sit on Robb’s chest. She stepped forward, “All right, I think he’s had enough.”

“Boo!” Arya called. Sansa met her sister’s eyes and nodded.

Sansa rushed after her friend, grabbing Margaery around her waist and yanking her toward the couch before the desire to help Robb come to true fruition. Arya jumped out of the way, but Robb grabbed her ankle and yanked her to the ground. Margaery shrieked, and she and Sansa fought half-heartedly into the couch.

“Don’t tell me you actually want to suck him off!” She exclaimed. Sansa grabbed her wrists in her hands. “Why are you all so _violent?!”_

Arya got up and reclaimed her spot on the couch, shoving them onto the floor. Sansa hit first, then Margaery’s elbow landed in her gut.

“ _Oof_.” The air left her quickly. She gasped weakly, trying to force her lungs to fill. They refused.

Panic slammed into her that easily. It’d been months since she’d been winded. The last few times, it hadn’t been accidental. This was different, it was different, it was different. Margaery was there, and Arya and Robb-

“Jon!”

She wheezed feebly, trying to get up as Margaery hurried off her, cursing loudly. Sansa couldn’t focus. She couldn’t _breathe._ Her hand slipped and she was back on her back. Back on her back. Her head hit the floor. Not breathing. Lungs stuck empty.

He was there, then. Not the bad he. The good he. The best one. Holding her in his lap, rubbing her back, whispering with a panic she couldn’t understand completely. Her diaphragm continued to spasm instead of function. Her eyes watered as she tried to cough but couldn’t.

She drew in a small breath. Another. She coughed a few more times, trying to crawl away from him to do so. She felt as though she might throw up, or dry heave at the least. He held her fast against him.

“Just breathe, just breathe,” he murmured into her hair. “That’s it. Easy. Don’t overdo it. Like that. Good girl, there you are.”

Margaery’s eyes were wide as saucers where she knelt beside them, Robb’s arm around her waist. “Gods, Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

Sansa offered her best friend a weak thumbs up, stretching herself without leaving Jon’s lap. She looked up at him. The concern in his eyes had only gotten more evident. “I need a nap.”

“This late, that’s called going to bed, love,” Jon bent and kissed her forehead. Robb pretended to gag.

“You can fight Robb for a Sansa blowjob tomorrow,” Arya said, all too brightly.

“What?!” Robb straightened. “ _That’s_ why you took their side?!”

“You were also being a misogynistic ass,” Jon offered. Sansa turned her face into his neck, kissing him there lightly. It seemed like a good enough idea. Perhaps he’d finally take a damn hint. Jon’s arms tightened around her. “Right. You’re sleep deprived.”

“Mhmm.” She kissed the same patch of skin again. Arya whistled lowly, and Sansa stopped. What was she _doing?_

“You’re going to have to excuse us.”

He got from sitting on the floor to standing without letting her go. Margaery wiggled her fingers in farewell as Jon carried her to the bathroom. Sansa barely managed a wave in answer. He shut the door behind them, sat her on the counter around the sink. Sansa kept her arms around him, not letting him pull away.

“Jon.”

“Brush your teeth,” he said lowly.

“Jon,” she pouted. _Kiss me, please, please just kiss me._

“You’ll give me bad ideas, looking at me like that,” Jon said.

“Jon.”

“Sans-“

“What if I know what I want,” she whispered.

“You should’ve told me,” Jon said simply.

“I want you to guess.”

“I’m not playing that game, Stark,” Jon smiled, leaning close enough that his forehead touched hers. “Tell me.”

“Jon,” she hummed, stretching closer. He angled his head so his nose bumped hers. “You _know_ what I want.”

“I’m a mind reader now?” He asked, voice low and oh so very dangerous. Sansa shuddered, trying to press closer, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Jon.”

“Tell me,” he rumbled. Sansa curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“What if you say no?”

“Sansa Stark, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ said no to you,” he said, a growl weaving through his words. He was frustrated, she could tell. Good. Let him be as frustrated as she was. He was being so dense. He should’ve kissed her five minutes ago. Five weeks ago. When she was fifteen.

“I’m not going to say a word,” Sansa decided.

“Then I’m not gonna fucking kiss you,” Jon said lowly, his head drifting until his mouth was near her ear. Sansa shifted forward, until she was barely sitting on the counter anymore, her knees bracketing his waist. He leaned further back, bending somewhat absurdly to stay close to her at the same time. “I’m not gonna touch you until you _beg_ me to.”

“I don’t _beg,_ Snow,” she said breathlessly. Her lungs refused her bid to stay calm. “You’re going to go blue before I do.”

“I’m not going to go blue.” His breath was warm at her ear, and she tugged at his hair gently. _Kiss me kiss me kiss me-_ “I like watching you _squirm_ , because I _know_ what you want, and I know _I’m_ the only one who can give it to you.”

“Jon,” she whined, trying to draw him close enough that he couldn’t keep up his bullshit any longer. He braced his hands on the counter beside her hips. “You’re being a cocky bastard.”

“Saying my name like that doesn’t count, nor does being rude.” His breath traced her jaw, until it was at her mouth again. She tried to press upward but he pulled back. “Use your words, you prideful brat, and I’ll kiss you.”

Gods, if that didn’t sound like the biggest trap in the world.

“You’re a prick,” she said. Jon chuckled, a sound that should not have been nearly as arousing as it was. “What do you want me to say when you’re acting like this?”

“Oh, so, so many things,” he said.

Two sharp raps on the bathroom door had him _growling_ , really, truly growling, and Sansa let out the tiniest little whimper as he stood straight, his thigh pressing between hers. Gods, she was embarrassingly sensitive. She hooked her legs around his hips before he could jolt away, just as the door opened.

Margaery took them in with one, two, three sweeps of her eyes, her smirk growing with each one. She met Sansa’s eyes with a devilishly arched eyebrow. “Well. Thought you were brushing your teeth. Arya’s heading to Gendry’s and Robb and I are turning in. . . . Night.”

“Night,” Sansa said, annoyed with how hoarse her voice came out. She wiggled shamelessly, seeking the stupid friction Jon’s thigh offered.

Margaery waggled her brow and fingers, throwing the door wider open instead of closing it. “Told you, Arya.”

Sansa groaned in mortification, hiding her face in Jon’s chest. He growled again, that low, primal thing, and slammed the door shut. She squeezed her eyes closed, listening to his heart thud.

“Did they all-“

“Yeah,” Jon said softly. Sansa shuddered. What must Robb think of her? Or Arya? Gods, it was going to come up the next time they disagreed on something while her parents were involved. It’d never end. And Arya was shameless—there’d be no calling her out for getting caught riding Gendry on his couch. She hadn’t even _seen_ that. Jon’s arm wrapped around her gently, stroking against her hip lightly. “I really don’t like her sometimes.”

“She was trying to help. Arya’s been a nut.” Her voice caught in her throat. Jon held her tightly, turning his cheek into her neck. She swallowed. “I _really_ don’t like . . . being seen. While I’m . . .”

“Sh, it’s all right, I promise.”

What kind of fool was she, thinking she’d get away with staging something for Arya? She couldn’t stand to . . . She didn’t want people to see her touching Jon. Didn’t want them to see him touching her. People made stupid faces and worse noises when they were together like that.

“I wouldn’t have- I didn’t know we would be interrupted,” Jon said lowly, that primal rumble in his voice again. Sansa clutched him tighter.

_Bad idea, bad idea, someone will interrupt again-_

“I need to brush my teeth,” she whispered. Jon nodded against her, pulling away. His hand lingered at her hip while they brushed their teeth, Sansa letting herself lean into him. Some strange mix of anxiety and anticipation followed even that touch.

The flat was silent when they ventured into it, both Robb’s and Theon’s doors closed and the lights off. She didn’t know if Theon was home or out. Sansa turned on the light in Jon’s room while he turned off the kitchen light and TV.

She glared at her jeans shorts. She couldn’t sleep in them. But she’d run out of PJ shorts. She’d meant to grab some from Arya’s place but hadn’t. She didn’t like wearing longer pants to bed, not with Jon beside her. She liked the feel of his skin against hers when she woke up closer to him than when she’d fallen asleep.

Before she could think much more about it, she dropped the shorts to her ankles and dove into his bed, scrambling under the sheets.

Jon stood at the door with that blank gaze that meant she hadn’t been nearly as sneaky as she thought. “You’ve got to stop showing me your ass.”

“Why?” Sansa asked, hauling the blankets up to her chin. Jon raised his eyebrows, and she positively burned. He picked up her shorts from the floor.

“You know, it’s getting way too cold for these,” he said, tucking them away with her things in his closet. He turned off the light, but he didn’t join her. She faintly saw him moving, heard him pull at his clothes. She remembered her bra belatedly, sitting up and slinging it out from under her t-shirt. Jon sighed. “I used to think you were tidy, you know.”

“It’s not staying on your floor. I’ll be wearing it tomorrow.”

“Mm, that’s a shame.”

Finally, his weight tugged her toward the center of the mattress. He slid under the sheets, his feet brushing against hers as they both settled in.

Sansa clasped her hands over her stomach, laying perfectly straight on her back. Jon’s posture only differed in the hands he folded under his head. His elbow was near her head. They weren’t touching though, not anywhere.

Sansa stared at the ceiling, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, casting the room in pale spots and dark shadows. She could tell he wasn’t asleep either, just from his breathing.

 _Do something,_ she willed silently. She wasn’t sure if the urge was for herself or him. She just knew she wouldn’t be falling asleep if there was any kind of distance between them.

_I know what you want._

There was too much silence. Jon barely even breathed different, a huff instead of an exhale, and Sansa broke into giggles. He was laughing within a moment. She twisted onto her side to face him, watching as he turned his head.

“Today was a lot,” he finally said, reaching out and touching her cheek. “We never talked about what Rhaenys said.”

“Do we really have to?” Sansa asked softly. Jon shook his head a little, and hair fell into his face. She brushed it out of the way before he could start blowing at it. She curled her fingers into the spot where his bearded jaw met his ear and neck, scratching idly. His knuckles scraped lightly across her cheek.

“I still don’t understand what you hold against your father,” Jon murmured.

“He paid you to come get me from school,” Sansa said. Jon’s eyes widened. “I know he paid you. I heard you talking one day—he told you he hoped it was enough to make it _worth it_. That he knew I was difficult and hard to understand. He’s never _tried_ , Jon. As soon as he realized he had a daughter who had even marginal interest in ‘woman things’ he checked out to let my mother handle it. He’s hardly there for me anymore than your father is for you.”

“Sans, he didn’t-“

“I was there, Jon, he _did_ say that. Maybe it’s something you got to forget, but I didn’t,” Sansa smiled for all of a heartbeat before it became too much. “He likes Arya too much to ever bother with me.”

“Sansa,” Jon scooted closer, wrapping his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest. “Did you hear what I told him?” Sansa shook her head. “I told him that it was fine, that I didn’t need the money at all. That you were fun and good at talking and smarter than me.”

“You never talked to me,” Sansa grumbled.

“Yes, well, you always had friends walking you to the car,” Jon pinched her side lightly. “Can I finish?”

“Fine.”

“He said that you were better with people than he’d ever be. That you were smart in ways he didn’t know what to do with,” Jon brushed his fingers through her hair. “Sansa, have you ever thought that your dad is just . . . awkward?”

“He’s a lawyer,” Sansa scoffed.

“That does not in any way, shape, or form preclude awkwardness,” Jon warned. Sansa rolled her eyes. “Sans, believe me, he is. He’s so awkward it’s painful, sometimes. He loves you, he just doesn’t know what to do to make you see that.”

“My dad’s not awkward,” Sansa grumbled, pushing at him. “Don’t be rude.”

Jon shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Only you’d get offended by that.”

“I’m not offended,” Sansa said sharply, pinching him back. He made a sound like he was going to argue, but she turned her back, drawing away from him. “I need to sleep.”

They lapsed into silence, his warmth fast fading as he separated himself from her. Sansa swallowed. She really wasn’t going to be able to sleep if she was this conscious of his presence all night.

“Sans?” He whispered. She hummed in answer. His arm slipped around her waist, and he pulled her flush against him, letting her settle her head over his other arm. He tugged her hair off out of the way carefully. She relaxed against him with a soft sigh. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah,” Sansa answered, voice just as hushed.

“I wish I didn’t have roommates,” Jon breathed.

“Yeah?” Sansa bit her lip, wondering what would happen if she wiggled. Probably more than she’d like, considering her brother was all of two doors away. “You want to know why I really want to come to King’s Landing?”

“Does it still have something to do with me?” Jon asked, pressing his lips into the back of her neck.

“Funnily enough, it does,” Sansa smiled into the dark.

“Does it have something to do with me and my mouth on your cunt?”

Sansa’s toes absolutely curled. “It might.”

“And how much does this current bout of _let’s fuck Jon_ has to do with proving something to your mum?” Jon asked, kissing her shoulder gently.

“Jon,” Sansa sighed. Still, he was right. “Probably too much.”

He was quiet for a moment, his mouth falling from her shoulder toward her neck. He drew circles into her skin with his thumb. “Why are you looking forward to King’s Landing, Sans?”

“Neither of us will have roommates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter saw so many edits. It got changed with every mood I had--not excluding my classic middle child syndrome and my occasional horniness. Shit happens, you know?


	23. Dress Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa search for a dress suitable for a media-covered gala, and Jon takes a stressful phone call.

The days flew by. Daily phone calls with Rhaenys, Eggy, or Daenerys. Flight plans and presents and explaining to Sansa’s parents. Tuxes and dresses and dresses and dresses.

The phone call from Catelyn Tully-Stark was the first he hesitated to answer in three days. He tried to tell himself it was because of the dressing room’s mid-day hush. Sansa had found some sort of boutique with nice (formal?) dresses and now he was here waiting for her to emerge in one of five dresses she’d plucked off the rack and into his arms. Jon took a deep breath, debating letting the damn thing go to voicemail. She’d kill him. Actually kill him. So, he moved into the store proper and answered, “Hullo, Ms. Catelyn.”

“Jon. You’re stealing my daughter.”

Jon groaned under his breath. “Mrs. Stark-”

“I’ve talked to Sansa about it all five times already. She’s adamant you don’t go down there alone, even against your protests, she claims. She seems to think you’ll spend half the Feast there and half it here. I don’t like the idea of her at some sort of public, televised gala,” she said. Jon knew better than to interrupt her. “Fortunately for you, Jon Snow, she also mentioned you made her apply for no less than four publishing house gigs. I’m struggling to find a reason to be upset with you.”

 _For once_ , she didn’t say.

“Hells, if she were pregnant, I suppose I’d have you to thank for my first grandchild.”

That comment was bitter enough to wound.

“No!” Jon winced at the volume of his own voice. His mouth just refused to shut. “I mean. She’s not pregant- _pregnant_. She’s not- completely nothing happening in or around . . . there.”

“Well, that’s good to hear at least. . . . What does she know?” His stomach plummeted like a stone tossed in a river.

“Some of my part,” Jon rubbed his neck with his free hand. He doubted he’d ever understand how he’d come to be allies with her, of all the Starks. “I- She was . . . I wanted her to know that I would- that I could protect her.”

Gods, why did he sound like a stupid little kid every time he spoke to Ms. Catelyn?

“ _Hmpf_.”

Jon closed his eyes for a moment. There was a mutual ignorance in their alliance. Jon did not say how many bones he had broken. Ms. Catelyn did not tell him what she had done to the bastard, where he had gone. Jon didn’t think even that could make him pity the fucker.

There was the gentle threat of his own potential vanishing every time he spoke to her. How easily things could get explained away when Ms. Catelyn smiled at a man while her husband stood glaring behind her. Nothing illegal, he was sure, not strictly speaking. But not in accordance with the spirit of the law either.

Finally, he managed, “I don’t think she’s coming to King’s Landing because she feels indebted to me.”

“Of course, she’s not,” Ms. Catelyn scoffed. “Kids these days.”

“What?” Jon frowned.

“Jon, a blind man could see how much she cares about you,” she said sharply. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said . . . all that to you that night. But can you really blame me, not trusting men around my daughter?”

“No, no, I can’t,” he sighed. “Can you . . .” Jon thought about it a moment longer. “Do you mind . . .”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“Someone needs to talk to Robb.”

“Why?” The concern was immediate, and Jon flinched. No one had been concerned about him that way in years. “Is he all right?”

“He’s overbearing with her sometimes,” Jon said carefully. “She’s starting to avoid him, and I don’t think that’s going to make it better.”

“I’ll talk to him about it. Leave you out of it, for your sake,” she answered. Jon nodded, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t see him. “I don’t have to remind you what happened to her the last time she went south.”

“She’s not going alone this time,” Jon said sharply. “And if Viserys tries to come anywhere near her . . . My father has already set up a couple of his bodyguards to protect her.”

“She hasn’t mentioned that,” Ms. Catelyn said.

“I was told this morning at work, we haven’t had time to talk about it yet,” Jon said. He swallowed, waiting for her judgement.

“She won’t like it, but if either of you ditch the guards, you’ll answer to me,” she said. Jon shuddered at the thought. “I have knitting club to get to. Bye, Jon.”

“Have fun, bye,” Jon said, the words awkward in his mouth. He turned it off and ventured back into the dressing room area. “Sans?”

“Hang on!” She grunted. “I’m struggling with the zipper!”

“Do you need help-“

“No!”

“All right,” Jon leaned back against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Far be it from him to impose on her. Even if he’d much rather be in that changing stall with her, clothes forgotten, hoisting her up against the wall.

Gods, he couldn’t wait until they were down South, alone. Not that he was _assuming_ anything. She was just _implying_ many things, things he had reason to hope she’d make good on.

“I just want to surprise you,” she said.

“I’m not offended,” Jon chuckled. “If you don’t need me, you don’t need me.”

“All right,” Sansa said after a moment. “All right. Wow. Okay. Um, don’t judge me.”

“I thought I was supposed to be judging all of the-“ Jon’s mouth stopped working as she slipped out of the dressing room. His eyes ate at the image of her as though starved. A dove grey silk spilled over her form, clinging to her body loosely by her hips until it fell gracefully to her feet. A slit split up her left thigh. The v-neckline dipped halfway to her navel, the gentle swell of her breasts all too distracting.

“Very bend me over and take me now,” she rasped, turning slightly. Jon agreed. He’d love to do just that. The pink flowering under her skin complimented the grey well. “The V is too deep.” Jon nodded. Sansa stepped closer, and he forced his eyes up to meet hers for the first time in years. “Don’t you think?”

She held herself nervously, hands twisted in front of her, chin high but eyes down. Jon cleared his throat. “You’re not comfortable. Try something else.”

Sansa nodded, ducking back into the stall. Jon let his head fall back into the wall behind him. Had he really been brought here to gape at her for an hour? That’s what each of the attempts to find a dress felt like. This was their first solo mission, however; Arya, Margaery, and even an incredibly bored Theon had all been along to help. Arya wrinkled her nose and claimed things didn’t suit her. Margaery pulled at the dresses and said there were yet more flattering things to be found. Theon shrugged at them all, muttering they were all just fine. Jon didn’t mind the lack of elaboration.

“Jon, do you want to see the one I pick, or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“It’s up to you,” Jon said. “Did you find one you like?”

Sansa was quiet a moment. “What if I picked it out of this group, so you’d have an idea but wouldn’t know for sure?”

“Okay,” Jon said. The little white door creaked open, and Sansa stepped out. A dark emerald sheath dress with a semi-sweetheart neckline cloaked her. Absolutely stunning. Sansa smiled for a moment and pulled at her hair, exposing the long column of her neck. Jon was glad he had leaned against the wall. He might’ve fallen over otherwise. She twisted, making the skirt swish.

“Do you like it?”

“You’re . . . _so_ beautiful,” Jon said softly. A smile spread across her face. “I think you could wear a sack and . . . This is just heart-attack bait.”

Sansa laughed brightly. “I’ll be sure not to put too much stress on your dad’s heart then.”

“I’m honestly worried about mine,” said Jon.

She laughed again, spinning so the bottom of her skirts flared.

“I do like this one,” she said, looking up at him with the sort of twinkle in her eye that made him want to shove her into the wall and absolutely ravish her. “Wait until you see the next one, though.”

“Oh, gods,” he muttered. She went back to change.

It was a crimson halter-necked dress with a modified A-line skirt. He didn’t know how he’d absorbed any of Margaery and Sansa’s prior discussions about necklines and skirt types. He’d googled little pictures before every outing so he could have an opinion if asked.

“This one is-“ His voice cracked as she turned. The halter-neck wrapped around her throat, leaving the entire rest of her back bare, down almost to the top of her ass. She couldn’t possibly have been wearing a bra. Jon tried again, clearing his throat. “Also good. This one’s also a good one.”

“Little less wine and dine me, little more feel me up in the coat closet, but not bend me over now,” Sansa said. She spun again. “I like how poof-y the skirts get when I twirl.” Jon covered his mouth with his hand before he could offer to feel her up in the changing stall. She peered at him a moment. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat again, shifting on his feet. “They both . . . Yeah.”

“Some help you are. Last one?”

“Okay.”

It was black, the neckline so wide it had to be that off the shoulder thing they were talking about, skirt hugging her hips but flaring slightly above her knees down to the floor.

“You’re killing me,” he breathed. Sansa beamed, turning. Not as much open back this time. Classy, he thought, but still drop dead gorgeous.

“Think this one is just ‘promises, promises,’” Sansa said, looking down at herself.

“Seriously, Sansa, this is just unfair.”

“You look quite dapper in your suit, as I recall,” Sansa grinned. “And I haven’t even done my hair or make-up really-“

Jon groaned, “They’re going to think you’re my trophy wife-“

“Who’s to say I won’t be?” Sansa quirked an eyebrow. Jon couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Are you seriously paying for it?”

“I don’t give a damn if you pick the most expensive or the least expensive,” Jon said flatly. “I’m not paying for flights, lodging, or transportation on our little vacation. I have enough cushion for a fancy dress my father already paid me back for.”

“You talked to him again?” Sansa vanished back into the changing stall.

“He emailed me your flight information. Promises he’ll be on his best behavior and all,” Jon rolled his eyes. His dad’s best behavior tended to be ogling women, though at least he never ogled any more than a decade younger than him. His one redeeming quality—not a pedophile. Subsection A—didn’t touch without permission.

Something they had in common. Wasn’t exactly a conversation starter though.

“Suppose we have to give him credit for trying,” Sansa sighed. “Go get the store lady. Secret, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

They bagged the dress up before waving Jon over to come pay. The clerk eyed him appreciatively before chirping, “Come back again soon!”

He didn’t look at his bank account.

His dad had already wired him two thousand dragons for any expenses the trip to King’s Landing might cost. All Jon could think of that wasn’t already covered was Ubering to the airport, buying food in the airport, or getting drunk on the plane. A driver would pick them up from Rosby International Airport, they would stay either at his father’s penthouse in downtown King’s Landing or the mansion to the city’s western border, where fridges (yes, plural) would be fully stocked and there would probably already be some clothes waiting. Considering the ease with which Viserys had discovered Sansa, Jon didn’t doubt his father could stock dressers in their sizes for them.

Sansa slipped her hand into his. “So, the PI your uncle hired on me?”

“I knew giving you Rhae’s number was a mistake,” Jon groaned. Sansa had puppy-dog-eyed it from him several days ago, to ask her opinions on dresses. Personally, he considered it to be cruel and unusual punishment. She watched him expectantly until he caved. “Jorah Mormont.”

Damn her beautiful eyes, and him with them.

“Mormont . . . _Mormont_ Mormont?!”

“Small world,” Jon said. “My boss is his dad. He saw us leaving. Mentioned it to his old friend because he knew who I was. While he was waiting, he talked to Thorne. Fucking asshole sang like a whiny bird. Jorah wasn’t actually hired to find you. He just happened to be a PI who got curious like a little bitch and told my shitty stupid uncle about you.”

“Love that,” Sansa said darkly, squeezing his hand. “I hate people who can’t mind their own business.”

“Yeah,” Jon said stiffly. She pressed closer and kissed his cheek lightly. He tried not to clear his throat too much, attempting to refocus. “He’s been exiled from the family business longer than Viserys has. I don’t even remember why. Something to do with Dany, I think.”

“Isn’t she younger than you?” Sansa wrinkled her nose.

“By like a month, maybe,” Jon said. He let out a slow breath. “Dany has always been perfect. Fell in love with and married her PR boyfriend. Never steps out of line, always does what’s best for the family. Speaks three or four languages. Controls all the business holdings in Essos without a hiccough. Touching her is like touching a god.”

“Not everybody figures things out the same way,” Sansa squeezed his hand gently. “You’re allowed to take your time and try to do things independently.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Jon nudged her with her shoulder, desperately trying to cover the warmth spreading through him. She knew him too well. “We’re coming in from the flight and heading almost immediately to lunch with Dany and Drogo. She’s allowed to out us from any family activities, and we’ll get up to a week vacation in King’s Landing with no Targaryens, sun and warmth only.”

“How do we get outed?” Sansa asked.

“You have some kind of family emergency, I’m about to be hospitalized,” Jon shrugged. “Really, it’s up to her. Comes down to whether or not she likes you. If she doesn’t, we’ll probably be free.”

“Should I try to make her not like me?”

“Nah,” Jon chuckled. “Technically you’d be banned but I’d be expected to show, it’d just be a solidarity thing for me. So, you would be out but I wouldn’t be. Which means we’d have to go home before I could get a disappointment speech from my dad.”

“Your family is weird,” Sansa wrinkled her nose. Jon smiled at her, shrugging again.

“Your family is violent.”

“Oh, like you’re not part of problem.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was more scowl-y than usual. He said, “Hey, most the time you or Robb starts it.”

“ _I_ start it?!”

“Yeah,” Jon grinned. “Promising blow jobs and being defenseless and all.” She shoved him across the sidewalk. Jon laughed, ducking around a tree and coming back to her side. “See? Starting things.”

“I hate you,” she rolled her eyes, taking his hand again. He brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Your mom called me,” he said.

“You’re more scared of her than me,” Sansa said. Jon nodded. “What’d you talk about?”

“What happens to me if anything happens to _you_ while we’re down south,” Jon said. “What happens if we ditch our guards.”

“Our _guards?”_

“Yeah,” Jon cleared his throat a little. “Dad and Dayne are putting together a group to make sure we don’t get in trouble or . . . trouble finds us. Your mum claims this is non-negotiable, so _we_ aren’t going to argue about it.”

Sansa scoffed. “She’s better at empty threats than I am.”

“She has a much better enforcer than you do,” Jon said. Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Your dad is way more terrifying than I am.”

“Well, only one of you has ever spanked me for not cleaning my room, so I’m going to have to agree.”

“If you ever need a good spanking, I live much closer,” Jon hummed. Sansa gasped, elbowing him sharply. He laughed, wondering at how fast her cheeks went scarlet.

“I don’t like the whole . . . _Daddy_ thing, Jon. I don’t have those kinds of dad issues,” she said. “Not that I don’t have dad issues-“

“I know,” Jon sighed, leaning over to kiss her temples. Ned Stark had always, obviously preferred Arya to Sansa. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen or heard of them having an actual conversation.

“I just don’t like the Daddy thing-“

“I didn’t say anything about that,” Jon said. He squeezed her hand. She was getting locked into rambling mode, her cheeks pink and only getting pinker with every step. “Offering to spank you has nothing to do with you calling me daddy. I know your dad. He scares me, as previously discussed.”

“Stop offering to spank me!”

“We’re in public, Sansa, I can’t do anything _but_ offer right now.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“If I’m going to die before I’ve spanked you, then at least- _Ow!_ ” Jon jumped away from her pinching fingers. She smiled sweetly, chasing him across the sidewalk. He dodged, gripping both her wrists in his hands and pulling them out of the way. She glared.

“You’ll be lucky if _I’m_ the to spank _you_.”

“Aye, I reckon I would be,” Jon smiled. She glared all the more. “You get to tease me for days on end with the damn dresses, and I can’t have one overplayed joke?”

“Yup,” she popped the [p] aggressively. “You don’t get to spank me either.”

“What if I said please?”

She watched him a long moment. “Is that actually something you’re into?”

Jon shrugged, glancing around the near empty street. “Would it bother you if it was?”

“No,” her slightly breathless answer drew his gaze back to her. There was a brightness to her eyes, bluer than ever with the pink in her cheeks. She swallowed, looking away. “Not unless it went too far.”

“I don’t need to hurt people to get off,” Jon said lowly. He released her wrists, touching her chin with one hand. “Sans, I’d never hurt you. I don’t think I _could_.”

Sansa smiled weakly for all of half a heartbeat. “You could. You really could.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jon promised. He tried and failed to smile.

“Let’s go,” Sansa fit her hand in his and tugged him along.

Jon walked her back to work and dropped off the dress to her car, vowing on his life that he wouldn’t look to see if it was the Wine and Dine, the Coat Closet, or Promises, Promises.

He completely forgot that she had taken five dresses into the changing room, and that he’d only seen four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I straight up forgot that rich people have security guards so I had to split the chapter that WAS going to be the BIG chapter into two and then I split the next one into two and now I've been writing smut for days (both for this project and another one but it's also Jonsa so keep your head up if that's your jam).  
> Also, if I do go full ~sexy~ do y'all want that here and for me to up the rating or should I toss that in a series with this for optional viewing? I do kinda intersperse a plot point between foreplay and fucking so let me know!


	24. Mass Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to explain Aerys's will to Sansa, but given it's a bull shit background plot devise, it was super ineffective!  
> Real talk tho: Jonsa. In. King's. Landing.  
> Rhaenys gives Sansa lingerie  
> Jon out here chilling with sir Barristan Selmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to get hyper fantasy fulfillment-esque before we drop it back down and bring it back home to Winterfell

The flight was the best Sansa had ever been on. She wasn’t crammed in the back with three little siblings, she wasn’t alone trying to escape a shitty ex-boyfriend. She could fall asleep on Jon’s arm. In business class. With enough legroom to exist without extreme discomfort.

Even though he’d told her not to, she’d bought little gifts for his family. Little pieces of the North for her new Southern friends. Hopefully it’d turn out better than her first venture South.

Jon grumbled that she was perfectly welcome to take his place in his family. Sansa rolled her eyes.

The first thing they did when they landed was take off their jackets. Then, of course, they got around to collecting their luggage. Despite the backpacks and suitcases and the garment bag with Sansa’s secret fancy dress, Jon kept Sansa’s hand firmly in his, something she didn’t mind all that much.

A driver and an older man in plain but nice clothes met them. The older man shook Jon’s hand, then pulled him into a hug with a laugh. “It’s good to see you, Jon. The beard came in nicer than Rhaegar can ever manage.”

“Thanks, Barristan,” Jon said, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He gestured to her. “This is Sansa.”

“Stark?” Barristan offered his hand. Sansa nodded, shaking it. “Your dad’s a good lad. Always helped Rhaegar in college.”

Jon and Sansa shared an alarmed look. “What?”

“Seems like I’m surrounded by tight-lipped bastards,” Barristan grumbled. He took the garment bag from Jon with an appropriate amount of care, and the driver took Sansa’s rolling suitcase from her. They started off through the airport. “The boys went to college together. You don’t think your mother moved to Winterfell for the weather, did you? Your father wanted someone he could trust keeping an eye out for you.”

Sansa wove her fingers through Jon’s and gave a tight smile. “Since when has my dad been sneaky?”

“Fuck if I know,” he shook his head. He called forward to Barristan. “Where are we being put up?”

“The downtown penthouse,” said Barristan. “Your father thought the two of you might like your privacy.”

It was a little odd being driven around with a guard’s radio chattering on and off. He had Jon lean forward over the seat to talk to that Dayne guy and a few of the other guards. He was anxious—coiled tight like a loaded spring. Sansa watched him quietly. He liked how excited the guards were about him, how many jumped in when Dayne asked about his kickboxing. He liked the law questions, too, about his cases and the Old Bear. Sansa assumed that meant Mormont, but she couldn’t piece together how it was that all the adults in her life—and Jon’s—seemed to know each other.

She looked at Barristan, at the driver, at Jon, and wondered if Jon’s entire life had been constructed so Rhaegar could keep an eye out from afar.

Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

They were released at the downtown apartment. Barristan came with them, passing an envelope full of keys to Jon. He pointed out all the different shapes and sizes, the color-coded duct tape at the base of each. There was one to get into the building (orange), up the elevator (yellow), into the penthouse (teal), down into the gym (purple). Jon held the door for her, smiling faintly. Barristan followed them in.

It was the nicest building Sansa had ever stepped foot in. Marble everywhere. Everything gilded and delicately ornate. Flowers on little tables with phonebooks and magazines. She swore she’d never close her eyes again. Alternative music played softly over speakers in the ceiling.

“The gym has a pool, but we need an hour warning to clear it out. Five minutes if one or both of you are going to the gym,” he said. Jon dug out the elevator key, turning it and hitting the up button.

“Are you that concerned about who can get into the building? Isn’t it pretty secure?” Sansa laughed quietly. Barristan shrugged as they entered the elevator.

“The people in this building have money and nothing to do,” said Barristan.

“Ah. Rumors,” Sansa nodded.

“Yes, indeed. If no one sees you and Jon, everyone assumes it’s Rhaegar and one of his women,” said Barristan. “The fact that Jon has popped into the tabloids now and again is infuriating enough to his father. Jon’s not getting dragged into all this. He’ll only exist officially when he decides that’s what he wants.”

Sansa watched Jon as Barristan hit the button for the top floor. His dark eyes all but churned as they focused on her. He took her hand and squeezed it.

_Exist officially_. Azor Ahai reborn, what was that even supposed to mean?!

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Barristan asked. The elevator doors dinged open. There was a little antechamber with a table and a door right across from the elevator. A vase of roses sat on the table. A fat security camera with a blinking red light sat over the door.

“Not very subtle,” Sansa said.

“No point in trying to be,” Jon said.

“Anyone who gets up to here would know damn well they’re being recorded,” said Barristan. “Excuse my language, Ms. Stark.”

“I have brothers,” Sansa waved him off.

“And a foul-mouthed half-lawyer boyfriend.”

“Selmy,” Jon grumbled, elbowing him as they left the elevator. Sansa laughed, tugging him away.

“Thank you,” she said brightly.

“Green-blue key,” said Barristan.

“It’s kinda an aqua color,” Jon shook his head, fishing it out. Sansa smiled at Barristan as the elevator doors closed behind him. Jon opened the door, crossing the threshold first. He held the door to let her in, then closed and locked it.

The penthouse was two floors, the first a wide living space and kitchen, with a room set up like a study and an en-suite bathroom tucked away in the corner. The ceilings were vaulted over the kitchen and living space. The door to the study was under the stairs leading to the second floor, which held two bedrooms and another study, with access to the roof and a hot tub. Sansa could hardly believe her eyes.

Jon whistled lowly. “I forgot how rich they are. I’ve _been here_ before, and I forgot how rich they are.”

“I had no idea,” Sansa moved to the floor to high-ceiling windows behind the (absurdly large) TV. They must’ve been thirty or more stories up. She looked out across the city. “You can see the ruins of the Red Keep from here.”

People often said that on the smoggier days it looked as though the Keep was still smoking. Sansa had lived in King’s Landings for years and never thought as much.

She felt him come closer, warmth penetrating her side. “Look, down by the coast. The marina.”

“They still have a ferris wheel,” Sansa grinned, turning to look at him. “How could you even see that?”

“I’m not blind,” he chuckled. “Come on, let’s get settled in before we get sucked into Hurricane Daenerys.”

Jon subtly pointed out the security cameras around the penthouse—the roof entrance, but not the hot tub; the kitchen and living room downstairs but mostly by the windows, front door, and stove; the hallway by the bedrooms but nothing inside them. All the security cameras could be moved remotely by Barristan and his staff, but they were usually positioned for maximum privacy and safety.

“We don’t need a hacking and _another_ sex scandal,” Jon explained lowly. Sansa grinned back.

“But what if I’d like to be fucked on the kitchen counter?” She demanded. Jon’s eyes flickered darkly, and he shrugged.

“I know how to turn them off,” he said. Sansa smiled all the wider. “You were kidding.”

“If you’re offering-“

“If Dany catches us with our pants down, she’s likely to accuse us of trying to make an heir to usurp her or some bullshit,” Jon opened the door to one of the bedrooms. Sansa felt her smile fade. The way he tensed up at his own accusation—he wasn’t just afraid of Viserys. He thought Daenerys was dangerous too, though perhaps not as much. He sighed heavily, “The apartment directly below us houses a few of the security team whenever someone stays at the penthouse. They’d probably send someone up to check.”

Sansa chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Then ask them to move the cameras away from the counter you want to fuck me on.”

“I’ll pick my favorite later.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“Nor am I,” Jon said. Sansa paused in the doorway, watching him. She believed him, oddly enough. The way he watched her—a thrill shot through her. His eyes were dark and burning all at once, straightening her spine and softening her insides. She could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the fire that came with the thoughts they no doubt shared. _I want you._ She could probably entice him to doing it now, brunch plans or no. A giddy sort of feeling overcame her at the thought. He couldn’t say no to her, not really.

But it was the greatest thing in the world, controlling Jon Snow, and she’d be damned before she abused that power. Especially so soon—she’d look half rabid if she jumped him within an hour of being well and truly alone with him.

“Later,” she decided.

The bedrooms revealed en suite bathrooms; one small and as impersonal as a hotel room, and the other very clearly the master. The master also had a walk-in closet, modestly sized compared to everything else. Only, there were clothes hanging—two suits and a handful of dresses. They unpacked into similarly not-empty dressers. All the clothes were in the proper sizes, thanks to a quick series of texts between her and Rhaenys. She couldn’t explain that to Jon, not exactly, given that the garment bag she’d “forgotten” in the car was now in his sister’s hands.

“Oh, my gods, this is creepy,” Jon muttered, scarlet as he shoved aside a few things in the sock drawer. Sansa was happy to discover that despite the brevity of their stay, he was like her. She couldn’t settle into a space without unpacking, she hated living out of a suitcase. It was better to put things away so she knew where to look when it was time to go.

Sansa came to look at what Jon was mumbling about, biting her lip as she tugged out a bright red thong. “It’s Rhaenys, you know that, right?”

“Are you sure about that?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Sansa held up the thong next to his face and took a picture. She grinned, texting it to Rhaenys. “You match.”

“I’m not going to make it through this if I know you’re in scraps of lace like that,” Jon grumbled, snatching the thong from her hand and tucking it back into the rest of the heap of lingerie. Sansa grinned at it all. He was absolutely cherry red.

“Your sister’s trying to help you get laid.”

“I’m going to put our bathroom stuff in the bathroom place,” Jon declared, grabbing wildly at their suitcases and fleeing. Sansa laughed quietly as Rhaenys answered.

_Do you like them? I picked out the ones you said to. Does he like them? Do I want to know if he does and how much?_

_Let’s just say he’s going to have a lot to think about today_

_Hmmm I love turning men into cavemen_ 😈😈😈

They unpacked comfortably quiet in the peace of the apartment despite Sansa’s infrequent giggles at Jon’s bright red face. It felt like being loud during a service in a Sept. Sansa could see life in the apartment, but the sort of life suited to reading newspapers and studying in silence. Not the sort that had children and chaos. She took pictures and sent them to her mother.

She got a text from her dad, _You’ve just about made your mother faint._

Sansa sent back a selfie of her and Jon, though Jon’s head was turned, and he likely had no idea he was in it. She groaned when she realized how obvious it was that they were unpacking into the same room. But, her dad was an adult, and she was an adult, and there was no reason for him to not think she was sleeping with Jon. The whole _point_ was that he was supposed to think she was sleeping with Jon.

And ideally, within an hour or day or week, she would be. Hopefully. Maybe. If she could figure out how to seduce a man, outside of embarrassing him with sister-bought panties.

Jon’s phone yelled at him, and he picked up immediately. Sansa had to bite down on her lip as the flush creeped back into his face. He cut his eyes at her and she tried not smile. “Hi, Dany. . . . Oh? Really? . . . Um, we’ll be right down. . . . No, it’s fine. We’re ready. See you soon. . . . Yeah. Bye.”

“She’s downstairs?”

“Illegally parked, yes,” Jon reached for her hand, scrolling through his phone. “Just a second. . . . Dany’s here, we’re leaving. . . . I don’t think I’m _allowed_ to ignore her. . . . Yeah, that’s a nice sentiment until a Braavosi sell-sword slits my throat over the weekend in the Stark family home. . . . We’re going.”

“Can we talk about Daenerys again because I feel like I missed something?” Sansa muttered, following him down the stairs. He squeezed her hand.

“Dany’s just used to getting her way,” Jon mumbled. He held the door for her and locked it behind them. “I’m not a threat to her because Eggy comes first. My . . . grandfather was a touch old fashioned with the will and the prenup for Dad and Elia’s marriage, apparently. Even though he’s dead, which should basically just mean all the money is whoever’s it is, he had it set up _stupid_ , and now . . . Well, we’re pretty sure the money is going to Eggy, and that he’ll give it back to the company.”

He jabbed at the down button for the elevator while she tried to catch up.

“Wait, wait, Rhaegar doesn’t have the Targaryen fortune?”

“Oh, he does, I mean when he dies. Hypothetically, a portion of Aerys—that’s his dad—his will was supposed to be split between his kids, but he didn’t know Daenerys was a girl when he died, so it’s technically up to Dad on whether or not she sees a penny of it—except if he dies, it’s up to Eggy. It has to be doled out every year. Aerys wanted it set up so he could punish people for failing to uphold the legacy or some bullshit,” Jon shook his head. “It’s really convoluted and archaic and stupid. Aerys was fucking crazy, seems he passed it on to at least Viserys. That’s how Dad cut him off; he’s splitting the year’s ‘allowance’ as it were between himself and Dany instead of giving it to Viserys. Viserys is just stupid enough to spend everything he has every year.”

“Wait, so if something happened and you _were_ the heir to the Targaryen-“

“Well, Viserys would be justified _and_ crazy, and it wouldn’t go well for me.” The elevators dinged open, and Jon tugged her inside. “See, technically _all_ the money is Dad’s, he just doesn’t treat it that way. His will entrusts it to Eggy because that’s what Aerys demanded. But, before he dies, and it’s not like we’re expecting him to, he decides whether or not Dany’s part goes to Dany and Viserys’s part goes to him.”

“I am _so_ lost. Did Aerys know how wills worked?”

“Yeah, it’s really . . . Not good,” Jon said dully. “They do case studies with it at most law schools. Of course, they only look at Aerys’s will and not my dad’s.”

“So, do we like Daenerys or not?”

“I mean, I don’t really,” Jon mumbled. “But she’s more tolerable than the rest. Except Rhae and Eggy, I mean.”

“What a stunning endorsement,” Sansa sighed, kissing his cheek lightly. The elevator doors opened again, and she started out, dragging him along. “Thanks for trying to explain.”

“Just need to make sure you know how distant the reality is of me winding up loaded,” he hummed. She smiled at him as they stepped out into the King’s Landing sun.

Daenerys Targaren was hard to miss.

His aunt was gorgeous and in a convertible with a ginormous man at the wheel. The silver-haired woman got up out of the passenger seat and launched herself on Jon. “Gods, it’s been years! You’re so handsome!”

Before Sansa could react, Daenerys jumped on her, holding her tightly. She smelled like . . . lemon cakes? Sansa hugged her back awkwardly. The man laughed and said something in Dothraki. She pulled back sharply. “Oh! Sorry! I don’t know you! I’m Daenerys, this is Drogo, I’m Jon’s aunt even though I shouldn’t be old enough to be _anyone’s_ aunt. Thanks, Dad.” She hopped back in the car. “Climb in, we’re getting brunch.”

The car behind the convertible, a royal blue sedan also illegally parked, held two men in mirrored shades, their car on but silent—electric. Sansa swallowed, returning her focus to the purple-eyed woman before her.

“Nice to meet you,” Sansa said. Jon chuckled, helping her into the back. She couldn’t help but throw a glance back at the other car. The man in the passenger seat saluted her lazily.

“Hurricane Dany,” Jon murmured into her ear, slinging his arm over her shoulders. Drogo revved the engine and Sansa kissed Jon’s cheek gently, well aware of Dany’s not-so-discrete watching of them via the rearview mirror. Jon grinned at her so broadly she had to laugh a little. He leaned forward to kiss her hair. “Don’t mind the tail. Even if they were the bad guys, they wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

Drogo was _not_ getting his safe driving bonus checks. He was, rather, very lucky they didn’t get pulled over or crunched in traffic. Drogo did not speak much, save to Dany. Sansa couldn’t tell if he was just quiet or if he only spoke Dothraki. She said something that made even Jon chuckle—a reminder that the convertible was her brother’s car. They parked (legally) near a restaurant. Sansa meant to walk with Jon, but Daenerys looped their arms together and tugged her out in front of the boys.

“Sansa Stark,” she said, practically singing her name. “You intrigue me.”

“How’s that?” Sansa said.

“I’ve never seen Jon fully smile before,” she said. “You’ve managed to make him even more handsome than he was before.”

That wasn’t a comment one usually expected to hear from their significant other’s aunt. Sansa sighed, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He and Drogo seemed to be grunting back and forth at each other. He tried some halting Dothraki—he’d taken some at university—but it only made Drogo wince.

“You’re brave to try to break into our world like this,” said Daenerys. Sansa tried not to physically tense as they walked arm in arm. “Even Jon took it in stages. I didn’t meet him until he’d know he was a Targaryen for over a year. My brother wouldn’t let any of us near him before that—except Elia’s children.”

“Rhae and Eggy?” Sansa asked.

“Jon met them before he ever met my brother,” Daenerys nodded. “Rhaenys is a control freak. Everything has to be _just so_. And Aegon is the silver-spoon fed playboy out of a comic—only without the heroics.”

“Really?”

“Perhaps that’s why Jon detests us all so much. Picked it up from his half-siblings,” she shook her head.

“Jon’s just easily irritated by the heat,” Sansa said. She groaned internally. Irritated by the heat? Gods, that was lame.

Daenerys said softly. “He’s very upfront with his disdain for his family.”

Sansa took a deep breath. They weren’t his _family_ , no matter what claim they or their money had over him. Family didn’t abandon each other. Didn’t dangle things like _law school_ over each other’s heads.

She looked back at him again. His eyes looked black in the light. He nodded slightly. She returned her focus to Daenerys. “He hasn’t known you ten years, and you all act as though he was born to it.” _As though this is normal._

“It’s in his blood,” Daenerys laughed. “The infighting, I mean. They used to say that when a Targaryen was born, the gods flipped a coin. They would be good and just, or mad and evil. I don’t think people are so simple. I think people can be great and evil, good and mad.”

“I think you have lingering delusions of grandeur,” Sansa forced a bubbly giggle out of herself.

“Doesn’t that make us ever so interesting to be around?” Daenerys gave Sansa a near blinding smile. Sansa returned it carefully. “But, anyone can pick up a phone and find my life story. You’re going to have to tell me the hard way. Are you working right now? Do you have one of those shitty jobs people hate?”

“Right now I’m working for an accounting firm, but I’m trying to get a publishing job soon,” Sansa said.

“Accounting and publishing,” Daenerys repeated. “Very different worlds, Sansa.”

“I’m a woman of many talents,” Sansa said.

Daenerys’s questions about publishing carried them well into their meal. Drogo and Jon sat quietly, eyes roaming the fancy brunch place as though wildly uncomfortable. She’d actually been to the place before with her first ex’s family. Sansa rested a hand on Jon’s bouncing knee, squeezing lightly without letting her conversation with Daenerys falter.

It slowly became more and more obvious that Daenerys was attempting to get her to open up not just about herself, but about Jon. As though Sansa would be anymore loose-lipped about business that wasn’t hers. Sansa subtly diverted the conversation back on Daenerys. Daenerys seemed to forget she was trying to learn about Sansa and Jon at all. She talked at length about her adventures in Essos.

The only thing Sansa felt they truly, honestly, bindingly agreed on was lemon cakes. Daenerys ordered two plates for the table. Sansa thought she might’ve seen Jon and Drogo eat two each. _Maybe_. Which meant that at least eight of the dozen were split between her and Daenerys.

They talked around their food about their shared love for lemons. Daenerys’s derived from a little house with a red door with a lemon tree outside her window. Sansa’s derived from her mother’s calm refusal to buy them on the claim that they were an unnecessary expense. Sansa knew it was really just that her mother didn’t care much for them.

“Ah,” Daenerys shook her head. “Deny someone something in their youth and they’ll crave it all their life.”

Jon’s hand gripped hers suddenly, tighter than usual. Sansa squeezed back just as hard, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t force the smile until she saw him breathe too. His grip loosened slightly, and she fixed her pleasant smile on Daenerys. “You have an interest in developmental psychology? I took a course on adolescence and secondary schooling at university. I’m a little rusty, but-”

“No, it’s just something I’ve noticed,” Daenerys smiled. Sansa smiled right back, waiting for the pain to leave Daenerys’s face. Sansa really didn’t like throwing the b-word around too much, given how much it stung when her brothers muttered it under their breaths at her. But, they rarely crossed the line into calling her a cunt, and even if it was ‘worse,’ language was arbitrary, and she felt it applicable in this situation. “Well. Shall we go to Rhaegar’s?”

“We’re going back to the penthouse to settle in first,” Jon said. “We’ll be there for lunch tomorrow before the gala.”

“Flights mess me up,” Sansa said. “I need a nap. And a shower.”

“Do you?” Jon frowned. She glared at him for a moment and he smiled nervously. “I’ve missed a girl thing.” He leaned in close and kissed her cheek. “I’d be happy to join you, babe.”

_Babe?!_

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Tell Eggy and Rhaenys hello for us.”

Daenerys’s eyes caught a spot behind them. Her brightness soured. “Not going to be a problem.”

“Snow!”

Jon jumped, whirling to look over his shoulder. A tall, thin woman with dark skin and darker hair strode forward, beckoning them forward with an evil grin. A slightly shorter man who looked much the same sprinted around her arms and across the room, weaving through tables of openly gaping patrons.

The hostess seemed to be chasing them, a rather loud, “ _Sir!”_ heralding his approach. “ _IT IS NOT SEAT YOURSELF!”_

Jon rose quickly to his feet. “Ah, shit.”

He crashed into Jon, nearly knocking him off his feet. Before Sansa could say a word, the man abandoned Jon and scooped her up into his arms. “I’m stealing your girlfriend!”

“Eggy!”

“ _SIR?!”_

“Aegon Targaryen the two hundredth, at your service,” he winked down at Sansa. She was too shocked to push out of his hold. She was too shocked to so much as close her mouth. Sansa let him carry her past the astonished and horrified hostess—now sputtering as the other woman slipped a business card into her pocket with a wink—out of the restaurant, and onto the street. “Ah, fuck!”

Flashes of light from several spots blinded her, a rising tide of shouts filling her ears, and she turned her head into the stranger’s chest.

“Sixteen!” He came to an abrupt stop, then turned and started _running with her in his arms._ Sansa noted the clear presence of bodyguards, shades and earpieces and everything. “Put her down! You, go get the other two!”

“Eggy!” Jon caught up as Aegon started to let her down, steadying Sansa with a sort of wildness in his eyes that had her stomach fluttering. “We have to go.”

He took her hand and started sprinting, dragging her along. There were at least three guards, and Sansa wasn’t fully sure she knew where they’d all come from.

“What the hell is happening?!” Sansa panted. Jon tugged them down a tiny alley barely broad enough for his shoulders, following the lead guard and the woman. Jon had to twist sideways to keep a hold on her hand.

“Paparazzi!” The woman, who had to be Rhaenys, shouted back. “They must’ve spotted Dad’s stupid car!”

“They didn’t have to park it on the street!” Aegon snapped.

“You two popping in didn’t help!” One of the guards snapped.

“Where are you parked?” Jon asked.

“Two blocks south, one west!”

“Right. Which way are we running?!”

“West!” The guard in front answered. Sansa’s head would start spinning soon, what with the strangers and the yelling and the running. She had four siblings—she was more than used to chaos, but it usually didn’t get quite this involved for her.

Sansa was fully winded when Jon yanked her to a stop by an SUV with ridiculously dark tinted windows. Another sat behind it, driver clenching the steering wheel tightly. Aegon opened the door, and Jon all but threw her up into the car, jumping in after her. Aegon shut the car door and ran around to the other side while Rhaenys started it. Sansa hurriedly buckled her seatbelt, leaning her head back against the seat and trying desperately to fill her lungs with air. They pulled at a very cautious pace away from the curb and onto the street, driving down a few back streets before hitting the main road. The other SUV followed.

“Jon!” Aegon turned in his seat to beam, extending a hand. Jon clasped his forearm tightly. They laughed through labored breath. “Haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Put your seatbelts on!” Sansa snapped, grabbing Jon by the back of his shirt and pulling him into the seat beside her. He raised his eyebrows at her, lips parted as he grinned and ran his hand through his hair.

Sweaty men weren’t a thing for her. Seriously, it was gross. But . . . She had to admit, there was something great about how out of breath and wild and excited he was. He was basically vibrating.

“Hey! Yeah! Click-it or ticket, bitches!” Rhaenys took a stoplight as an opportunity to glare at Aegon. Sansa swatted Jon’s arm hastily and he buckled up, chuckling. She swatted at him again. Aegon took care of his seatbelt as well. “Anyway. Sansa, nice to _officially_ meet you, I’m Rhae and this is Eggy. Welcome to life as a Targ.”

Sansa couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled away from her nervously. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“Nah, it’s only every once in a while lately. They’re just excited because Daenerys is here and we have the gala tomorrow,” Rhaenys said. “And they always like it when Jon shows up, they like selling the ‘rando who hangs with celebrity royalty’ thing. By the way, you handled that like a champ, hon.”

That sparked a different thought, and she turned on Jon before she could forget to. “You called me _babe_ in front of your aunt! You’ve never called me _babe_ before in your life!”

“I panicked!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried talking about how I smell!”

“I never did that!”

Aegon laughed in the front seat before she could answer. “Did you tell them she needed a shower?!”

“No!” Sansa and Jon cried together.

“Hey, any excuse to use the shower in the penthouse is a good one, as far as I’m concerned,” Rhaenys said. She made eye contact with Sansa in the rearview mirror, winking. “Big enough for two, without anybody getting cold.”

“Rhae!”

“What? We’re adults! You have sex with a gorgeous northern lady, I have sex with-“

“Anybody who’ll look you in the eye?”

“Eggy, you make one more bisexuals are sluts joke, and I’ll ram you through the-“

“I have such normal siblings,” Jon said over her.

“Bro, you’re the one talking about how your girlfriend _smells_.”

“Anyway!” Rhaenys said loudly. “We’re adults who can talk about sex without it being weird.”

“Yeah, except I don’t see anybody else’s partner here,” Jon bit out. “And I’m not buying _thongs for your girlfriend!”_

“Jon brings a fair point; though, I don’t _have_ a girlfriend,” Rhae said evenly, meeting Sansa’s eyes again. Sansa covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed. Jon was bright red again. “So, Eggy? What happened to your lady friend?”

“Oh, I made her up.”

“Nice.”

“Classy, Egg.”

“Have I missed something?” Sansa asked.

“Eggy’s using a girl who, apparently, doesn’t exist to get out of some family obligations over the next week,” Rhaenys said. “I’ll probably _actually_ find someone to go fuck.”

“NDA in hand?”

“But of course, brother dearest.”

“People have to sign NDAs to sleep with you,” Sansa glanced at Jon. He nodded silently, reaching over to take her hand.

“That’s why I don’t exist in this world,” he said softly. “It only takes the wrong person to put two and two together, and I’m the love child of a scandalous affair between one of the most powerful men in the world and some random contractor.”

“You _are_ the love child of a scandalous affair, bud.”

Jon tried to smile, feigning a chuckle. Sansa brought his hand to her lips, kissing it lightly. The violet flecks in his eyes seemed to glow. His lips twitched, leaning closer. She kissed his temple, pulling away quickly. His smile turned real, bright.

_I love you._

“This is your stop.”

Sansa jolted as Rhaenys parked, her eyes widening.

He’d hopped out and opened the door for her before her brain could catch up. He offered a hand and she took it, stepping down carefully to the sidewalk. He wrapped an arm around her waist as he shut the door behind them, waving at Rhaenys. Sansa thought she saw his sister wave back through the tinted glass. The guard SUV lingered on the curb, watching. Jon pulled out the little keyring and led her back to the penthouse.

How long had she been in love with him? Why hadn’t she noticed earlier? Why was Arya’s voice singing _denial is a little bitch_ in her mind on repeat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Next. Chapter.  
> Not smut but *chef's kiss* I like it


	25. Kiss the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa engage in heated debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard y'all requested some face smushing

“Now what?”

“You wanted a nap, right?” Jon asked lowly.

“Yeah,” Sansa said, her hand still in his. There was a mark from her lipstick on the back of his hand. “What will you do?”

“I’m tired, too,” Jon murmured. “Thought I’d join you, if that’s all right.”

“Okay,” Sansa smiled. He reached up and twisted a strand of her hair around his fingers. He frowned as he let it go. “What?”

“You let my brother sweep you off your feet,” Jon said quietly. Sansa shrugged. “Do you like him?”

“I’ve hardly met him,” Sansa said carefully. Jon nodded, his gaze steely. “Are you- Are you jealous of him?”

“No.” He said it too quickly, a muscle in his jaw feathering. He looked good.

“You are,” Sansa said softly, trying not to smile. Jon jealous of someone’s interaction with her. She’d wanted to see that since she was fourteen. She had seen protective, the protective made sense—Robb and Theon were both like that, too. But Jon _jealous_ , that was different. New, for her at least. Jon’s cheeks flushed, and his gaze dropped away from her.

But there were so many things Eggy had that Jon did not. Too many to count, too many unquantifiable things. She was hardly any more than a drop in the bucket, but even that could make it overflow. If she knew anything about Jon, it was that he wouldn’t harbor jealousy against his brother without also harboring guilt. He carried guilt like a shield. “Jon, don’t-“

“It’s stupid, I know I have no right-“

“No, Jon, stop,” Sansa moved closer. She waited until he looked at her, so she could see his eyes. Gods, he was a tangled mess when it came to his family. “Jon, I trust you more than any man I’ve ever met. I think you’re more handsome, I think you’re funnier, you’re sweeter, and you’re more intelligent. I may be slightly biased, but I _like you_.”

“Sans,” he brushed his knuckles across her cheek. She turned into his touch, wishing for more. “You say one more nice thing about me . . .”

“And what?” Sansa breathed, letting his eyes devour her. She touched his chest lightly, half wanting to grip his shirt and pull him closer. No, not half wanting. Full wanting. Very much wanting. He didn’t kiss her last time and now she was too tired to ask. He should just read her mind and _know_ and _kiss her already._

He looked at her like he _knew,_ the smallest of smirks dancing across his face as his voice lowered, “And I’ll be forced to kiss you.”

She let her hands wander idly across his chest. It was _such_ a good chest, though nearly ruined by the fact that his shirt actually fit instead of being too small. She liked it when his shirts were too small. “Oh, forced?”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” he rumbled.

“And you’re going to-“ Sansa wet her lips, trying not to crumble. Gods, she wanted him to destroy her. She _trusted_ him and that gave her a high like none other. “Going to keep me in check?”

“Yes.”

“Well. I think you’re fantastic, Jon Snow,” she whispered. “I think you’re kind and you’ve got a good bum and the man bun _works_ -“

“That does it,” Jon grinned. He knocked her knees out from under her, sweeping her into his arms. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her upstairs, down the hall, into their room. She’d been carried quite a bit more than normal, but she had to admit Jon was very good at it. Top two for the day for sure. (Who was she kidding, was it even a competition?) He kicked the door shut behind them and set her on her feet.

Sansa looked down at him, heart thudding faster with every moment he stared. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“There’s cameras out there,” he breathed, shifting closer. Sansa’s back pressed into the wall, and he came closer still. “I don’t care for an audience for this.” Her eyes couldn’t settle—his eyes, his mouth. Whatever his plan was, he needed to get on with it. She wanted him—his mouth, his skin, his heart. She was selfish as a child when it came to him. “And I haven’t decided how I want to kiss you yet.”

“I don’t care how you do it,” Sansa said. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, just _kiss me_.”

“I’ve thought about this for too long to not do it right,” Jon hummed, his nose brushing along hers. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck so he couldn’t escape. Not that she thought he’d try, but . . . just to be sure. She’d had about enough of his teasing.

“Jon,” she whined, her eyes fluttering closed. “Please, I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His lips pressed against hers, barely there at all, even as his hands curled around her waist and he pressed her further into the wall. She angled her face, pulling him closer, trying to coax him to actually, really kiss her. He chuckled under his breath, his smile warm against her.

“You bastard,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, slowly and lightly, almost lazily. She dug her hands into his hair, tugging carefully. He groaned into her, his tongue sliding against hers. She sighed, even as she waited for it to become overwhelming. She hated kissing with tongue, hated the slimy feeling of some man trying to crawl down her throat.

But it never came. Jon teased her, never overpowering her, dragging more sighs and soft moans away from her. His hands dug into her hips, and he pulled her away from the wall.

Jon nipped at her lip and she shuddered, pulling away. His eyes turned watchful, concerned. “Too much?”

“No,” Sansa panted. “I- I just-“

“It’s okay,” Jon kissed her forehead gently. “You wanted to sleep, right-“

“Wait, Jon,” she pressed herself back into him, kissing him the way she had wanted to for far too long. She leaned her forehead against his when she finally pulled herself away. “I’m not . . . I’m not scared.”

“What would you be scared of?” He breathed.

“I- I don’t know,” Sansa whispered. “Just . . . You freaked out-“

“I didn’t,” Jon kissed her softly. “I misread you . . . I guess.”

“You thought I freaked out?” Sansa tugged her fingers through his hair again. He groaned quietly, nuzzling under her jaw to press his mouth against her neck. His beard scraped against her skin, and her voice went a little _wobbly._ “I’m not freaking out.”

“Yes, you are,” Jon hummed against her ear. “I know you better than that, Sansa.”

“Jon,” Sansa pulled back enough to look at him. “I’m not.”

“Stop saying that like it’s a question, then,” Jon said. His dark eyes searched her face. How did he damn _know?_

“I’m not freaking out in a bad way,” Sansa said. “I just- It’s been- This hardly feels real.”

“Sans, I’m not going anywhere,” Jon whispered, cupping her cheek in his palm. “I’ll wait as long as you want, take whatever you give me. You’re not going to do anything you don’t want to with me. Understand?”

“Yes,” she kissed him lightly. “I just . . . Do you know how long I’ve been daydreaming about this?”

“Don’t go giving me a big head,” Jon kissed her. And then she kissed him. And he kissed her some more.

And it was pretty much one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“You’re still freaking out,” he murmured against her.

“It’s been a minute since I- and I haven’t shaved in-“

Jon laughed against her. “Sansa, frankly I couldn’t give less of a damn.”

“Stop being so good,” she crushed her mouth back into his. “My brain is getting fuzzy.”

“Well, you only had about a billion lemon cakes, the sugar has to be doing something by now,” Jon kept laughing. She hit his shoulder but couldn’t help the giggles that escaped her.

“It wasn’t that many!”

“It was a lot,” Jon chuckled, his hands slipping around her waist. She curled her arms around his neck once more, leaning down to push her nose against his as they laughed. “I wanted to kiss you when we got in the car.”

“I wouldn’t have focused all through brunch,” Sansa murmured. “I can hardly keep up with your family as it is.”

“I don’t mind the distraction,” Jon said. “Would I be an ass if I said it’s nice to have the focus diverted from me just a little?”

“Definitely,” Sansa grinned.

“I rescind the question,” Jon chuckled. “Strike the answer from the record.”

“Too late,” Sansa kissed him gently. “You’re an ass by your own admission.”

“You’ve really got me on the ropes, counselor.”

“Maybe your dad should pay for _my_ law school.”

“Thank the gods Robb doesn’t have half your brains,” Jon said. “He’d have dominated the world by now.”

“He wouldn’t be so bad,” Sansa said. “As long as he’s still scared of Mum-“

“I can’t imagine not being scared of your mother,” Jon said, a note off. Sansa sighed.

“She’s felt . . . stuck with you for a long time. And it’s not your fault and I don’t think she could have asked for a better friend for Robb while we were growing up,” Sansa said carefully. “And now, she’s just- just stuck differently. I’m not giving you up, and I’ll hate myself forever if I hurt you.”

“I’m not worth that,” Jon said lowly.

“You are,” Sansa said. “You _are._ If she’s not on board . . . well, she’s already used to me not showing up for the holidays.”

“Sans,” he kissed her cheek. “You’re really quite wonderful, you know.”

“I know,” she smiled at him. He laughed, eyes crinkling. She giggled. “Can we actually take a nap now?”

“‘Course we can,” Jon stretched forward to kiss her again. She melted into him, holding him closer to her. “Just as soon as you stop letting me kiss you-“

Sansa laughed against him, pulling away. “Oh, you’ve ruined it, now.”

“Have I?”

Jon shoved her back onto the monstrously comfortable bed. Sansa shrieked with laughter and rolled out of the way before he could come diving on top of her. She let him turn to his back before quickly covering his body with hers.

“Heavens me, it would appear I’m at the fair maiden’s mercy,” Jon said dramatically. Sansa laughed so hard she nearly keeled right off him. Nearly. Eventually, she came to her senses, happy beyond belief at the joy shining in his eyes.

_I love you._

“You should’ve kissed me months ago.”

“When?” Jon’s smile faded in his confusion.

“When we were drunk and you were too gentlemanly to notice I was trying to get naked in front of you,” Sansa whispered, burning at the very thought. Two dozen more sparked. “You should’ve kissed me when we woke up. You should’ve kissed me when I asked you to date me-“

“Fake date,” Jon said softly. “If you hadn’t said _fake_ , it wouldn’t have taken me this long.”

“I’ve had a crush on you as long as I can remember, Snow,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “We used to get married every weekend.”

“When you were six, and that was fake, too,” Jon chuckled. “You’ve made a habit of fake courting me, Stark.”

“Yes, well, I think we should go out on a real date,” Sansa said, leaning down until her nose tilted against his. His breath caught, lips parting, as he stretched up to meet her, only for her to rise with him. “What do you think, Jon?”

“When? Where? I’m free,” he said hastily. Sansa ducked down just enough to kiss him. Gods, would she ever tire of just kissing him? He groaned against her, hands skimming between her waist and hips as though unsure where to settle.

“After our nap,” Sansa finally decided.

“But I don’t want to sleep,” Jon murmured. “I want to kiss you until we die.”

“Drama queen,” Sansa pulled off him. He latched onto her immediately, turning onto his side and pulling her tight against him. She couldn’t help her laughter. “Jon.”

“What? You think I’m letting you get away that easy?” He asked, ever so close to her ear. Sansa sighed, shifting back into his warmth.

“I feel like you’re making a big deal out of this.”

“Well, we’ve been married since we were six and you’ve only just now kissed me,” Jon said.

“Stop it,” Sansa grinned. “Remember, we’re supposed to have been doing this for months.”

“Personally, I’ve never been much for cramming, but looks like there’s no time to waste-“

“Jon,” Sansa said, trying her very hardest to be serious. “I need to sleep.”

“Fine,” Jon twisted her hair up and out of his face.

She was almost one hundred per cent sure he passed out before she did. She fell asleep grinning like a fool.


	26. First (Real) Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa go out on the town for a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your one and only Baelish warning before we get started I have big plans for the motherfucker and then he's going to get what he deserves don't worry too much

_Dinner?_ Rhaenys proposed in the group chat.

_Nah, I’m taking Sans out._

_Lame._ Eggy chimed.

Jon took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders against his suit jacket for the billionth time.

Sansa was getting ready.

For their very first date that was a real date and was not a fake date.

Jon glanced longingly at the empty liquor cabinet. He regretted telling his dad to stock it under absolutely no circumstances. He could use a little liquid courage—just a little. Sansa clearly didn’t like how dense he got when drunk. He didn’t like it much either. They’d have wine with dinner, though, and he didn’t need to pregame a dinner date.

He’d pulled his hair up and back, tried to manage his beard a little, wore a charcoal suit with white shirt. Jon looked respectable. At least, that was the goal. He’d forgone a tie and undone one of the buttons. Hopefully that looked good enough without looking overdressed.

He fiddled with his phone nervously. There was no telling if and when the paparazzi photos would hit. What the damage would be if they included Sansa, if someone connected the dots. If either of her shitty exes would use it to find her, hurt her.

He really thought he might kill them if they popped up. He didn’t have any semblance of self-control when it came to her.

He’d texted her father, explaining that they’d been caught while out to lunch with his aunt. Ned asked if they were all right, and they were, so Jon told him as much. He asked if Jon had seen his father, and Jon had answered with a truthful but short _no._ And that was the end of that conversation.

Jon knew Sansa had troubles with her father, but honestly, Jon just thought that she woefully underestimated his awkwardness. Not that Ned had tried to make that clear, or that he would be telling Sansa she was overreacting, because she wasn’t, but Jon liked to think he knew Ned well, and for Sansa to think that he didn’t like her was ridiculous. Ten seconds with Ned Stark was enough to know that he adored all his children, including both his daughters, including Sansa.

And now Jon was really going to date her. Really, really going to try a get in her pants—because it seemed like she wanted him to. Still, guilt managed to curl itself around his anxiety.

“I never even told Rhaenys what size I am, I can’t believe she can just _tell_ ,” Sansa called from upstairs. Jon couldn’t help his little jump. He couldn’t even see her yet, and his mind was focusing back in on the task at hand.

“She makes clothes,” Jon said. “It’s a hobby or something. She’s the best tailor in the city.”

“Sounds like more than a hobby, Jon,” Sansa’s voice came closer, and he looked up expectantly. He could see her hair, piled up on top of her head in copper braids. Then her face, and her neck and her shoulders-

“Fuck,” Jon said softly, watching her descend the stairs. She was so beautiful; he forgot the intensity of it sometimes. Like exposure therapy or something. She gave a little twirl at the bottom, smiling. _So_ beautiful.

“You like it?” She gave another spin, beaming at the skirts of her dress as they rose into the shape of flower petals. The dress was a soft rose color, ties like a corset from her cleavage to her navel, sleeve-less and glorious. The dress knowledge imparted to him by the internet slipped through his grasp. It was a dress and she was beautiful in it. He wanted to drag his finger down those laces and watch the front of her dress loosen and- “You’re drooling.”

Jon cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to hers. “Rhaenys— _ahem—_ she didn’t-“

“Make it? No, there’s a tag,” Sansa laughed quietly. “Though I quite like it.”

“You look stunning,” Jon said, clearing his throat a little.

“Do you need water?” she laughed.

“I’m looking at a tall glass-“

“Oh, gods, you’re insufferable,” she grinned, pink high in her cheeks as she went and filled a glass of water for him. He watched her carefully, even as he drank it. “What?”

“If I call you beautiful again, are you going to call me unoriginal? Because I think my brain is shorting, and it’s the only word I can come up with right now.”

She beamed at him, and his stomach responded with a backflip. That seemed like a success, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d said or what was any of the words that were in his head or out of his mouth. He took another sip of water instead of clearing his throat again. “We should- I have a reservation.”

“Wait,” Sansa plucked the water from his hands, setting the glass on the kitchen counter, and danced back to him. Her dress swirled around her legs as she planted her hands on his shoulders. She’d changed her make-up somehow. Her lips were close to the same color as the dress, and glossier. She looked like she was glowing. She looked like she needed kissing.

“What?” He asked, more grunt than word. Her eyes were full of mischief. He wanted to kiss her.

“Nothing,” she whispered, leaning closer. She was doing it on purpose, he could tell, and he still wanted to kiss her because she so clearly wanted to be kissed by him.

“Mmhmm,” he smiled. “I’m on a strict date first, kiss after diet.”

“Liar,” she crooned. “Kiss me.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he somehow managed to stop smiling and kiss her. Somehow. It was ten hundred thousand times better than getting drunk. Easily.

“Don’t we have a reservation to get to?” Sansa pulled away, and he nipped at her lip for the teasing.

“If you think you’re testing me, you have a lot to learn.”

“Oh, I do, do I?” Sansa grinned. “I thought you couldn’t say no to me.”

“I’m sure I’ll get around to everything eventually,” Jon said. “But I move on my own time-table.”

“Yeah? Let’s skip the reservation and stay here.”

“Maybe next time,” Jon said.

“Jon,” she pouted.

“Next time,” he promised, bending to kiss her lightly. “I’ll put it on the list of things we ought to do. Skip the reservation and bend you over a kitchen counter of your choosing.”

“Oh, I get to choose? What if I want to do that now?”

“I just put it on the list, it’s at the bottom now,” Jon explained. She dragged her nose along his, bringing her lips close but not close enough. “Tonight, we’re going to dinner.”

“And here I thought you were wrapped around my finger,” she sighed, feigning sadness. Jon closed the gap between them, cradling her jaw in one hand, careful not to let his hand slip too far into her hair. He still couldn’t quite believe she let him.

“We’re going to eat expensive food and drink expensive wine and then we’ll come back here and watch a movie and make out on the couch,” Jon murmured against her.

“Can I pick the movie?”

“No.”

“Is it a horror movie?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Sansa huffed. “But only because you’re so . . . You.”

“I take that to mean you trust me?” Jon slipped his hand into hers, pulling her toward the door.

“Don’t get a big head about it,” she grumbled.

“I’m not going to break your trust,” Jon kissed her cheek. “I’m going to reward it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Only if you’re good,” he whispered into her ear. She shuddered, and he decided not to do that again, otherwise they wouldn’t’ve made it to the lobby.

They were three minutes early for their reservation and were promptly sat in a little curved booth. Two guards took up post across the room, and Jon tried to focus on things other than that. The table had a candle in a spherical . . . holder thingy, and Jon watched the fire play in Sansa’s hair and eyes throughout the night.

It was easy in the best possible way. They talked about everything, because they always talked about everything. Sansa smiled and laughed, and Jon devoted every conscious second to making her smile and laugh again. The wine was Dornish and rich and made her cheeks pink.

The only thing that ruined it was the man who interrupted them halfway between dinner and dessert. The guards were on their feet blocking the path to the table before Jon registered any change. Sansa slid closer to him, ducking her head a little to stay out of sight. Jon claimed her hand and held to it tightly.

“Pardon my intrusion,” said the tall, slim man, voice soft in a way that Jon didn’t like. His silver streaked hair was the only indication of his age, and his black suit was absolutely immaculate. “I’m Petyr Baelish, I work with Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon clenched his teeth. _Baelish_. They’d met before, he thought, years ago. He hardly worked _with_ Rhaegar—he worked _for_ him. Everyone in this city did, directly or indirectly. Rhaenys didn’t like him, Rhaenys hated him with every fiber of her being, something about bad vibes and massive creeper energy. Jon couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even acknowledge his presence, but he wanted to say he seemed the part.

“I don’t give a shite,” said the guard closest to Jon. “You weren’t asked here.”

The guards shifted, and Jon squeezed Sansa’s hand gently. He watched Baelish’s eyes catch on Sansa, saw her find her phone and answer some text she’d gotten, pretending to ignore the whole situation. He could see how uncomfortable she was in the way her shoulders raised toward her ears as she hunched in on herself. Jon tried not to grind his teeth to dust, but only barely. No one got to make her small. Not while he was there beside her.

_Restraint_. He reminded himself. Beating Baelish’s face in wasn’t to his benefit, far from it. If Robb was there, Jon would be busy restraining him, probably physically, so was it really so hard to sit still and be quiet and not look at the raging asshole?

“I hope to see you tomorrow night for the benefit,” said Baelish. “I hear it’s going to be the best one yet.”

“You were asked to leave,” said the other guard, stepping forward. “I suggest you get to it.”

“I’ve often been curious about you,” Baelish said. Jon didn’t react. Sipped at his wine. Watched Sansa for a moment. Ignored the urge to _do something_. “Family friend, I know, but how you met _dear_ Rhaenys-“ _do something do something_ “-and Aegon before your vacation in Riverrun has always befuddled me.” Jon didn’t answer. Sansa’s hand fell to his knee beneath the table. “Rhaegar seems to have little idea or care how you came to get so close to his precious children.”

“We’re detaining Baelish,” the first guard said, turning his head to activate his microphone. Jon let out a shaking breath. He didn’t need to do a thing. Other people would do a thing for him.

He was beginning to understand why Robb was so frustrated.

“No, for being a useless sack of shite.”

“Always so polite,” Baelish grinned. Jon didn’t know when he’d let himself look at the bastard. His eyes turned to Sansa, biting her lip as she watched her phone screen. Jon cleared his throat loudly. Despite his glaring at Baelish, he could tell she looked at him. “Well, Johnny boy, do you have anything to say for yourself?” Jon felt his lip curl. Sansa’s hand gripped his hand tighter even as she pretended to focus on her phone. He could feel her hand begin to shake. The edges of his vision went a little pink. “They must have trained you well.”

Jon resisted the stupid urge to say something just to prove the man wrong. That was what he wanted, and Jon would have no part of that. He just clenched his jaw ever tighter and looked at the text Sansa’s father had sent her when she nudged him to show him. It was just _How’s the south?_ but they stared at it like it was the answer to all their questions.

Sansa typed out _Why is he trying to bait you?_

Jon could only shrug.

“I don’t think anyone will complain if we tase him and drag him out,” said the guard talking into his radio. “Yes, luckily we know the subtle art of taking a damn hint.”

Baelish smiled despite the threat in his voice, the grotesque curl of his lips drawing Jon’s scowl once more. Sansa leaned into Jon, and he draped an arm over her shoulders. “Subtle, is it? Enjoy your evening, Mr. Snow . . . Sansa.”

Sansa’s grip rose to his wrist as he made to get up. One of the guards stayed, the other wrapped Baelish in a head lock and dragged him away. Jon wanted to follow. He wanted him and Baelish alone in a dark alley, wanted his fists flying, knuckles breaking open. Sansa hissed, “It’s not worth it.”

“I _hate_ him-“

“He wants you to cause a scene,” said the remaining guard. “You did very well, Jon. Dayne’s proud.”

He returned to his little post across the room. A practically dressed woman joined him a minute later.

“So,” Sansa asked quietly, releasing his wrist but settling her hand on his thigh. “What was the point of that?”

“He has the photos of us, and he’s debating selling us out,” Jon said softly. “If he finds out who I am- If he has contact with Viserys, I don’t know . . .“

“How could you know that?”

“Baelish owns the King’s Landing media. He owns the paparazzi. He’s trying to figure out how hard my father will fall on him if he steps out of line.”

Sansa drummed her fingers across his knee, and he turned his gaze to her. “It’s all gotten rather melodramatic, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t know when or how . . . But yeah,” Jon leaned closer to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sansa murmured. “There are things you don’t control.”

“Don’t remind me.” Jon sighed, leaning his head against hers for a moment. He accidentally made eye contact with the male guard and cleared his throat carefully, drawing away from her.

“Did he say his name was Baelish?” Sansa asked.

“Yeah, Petyr Baelish.”

“Petyr Baelish,” Sansa repeated, her brow furrowing. Jon watched her, waiting for her to voice whatever thought was forming. She tapped her fingers against his leg again. “I . . . I think my aunt dated him.”

“What?”

Sansa’s frown doubled down. “I know that name . . . And for some reason it’s Aunt Lysa that’s coming with it.”

“If your mum has dirt on him, and he hurts you in any way, shape, or form, she’ll end his motherfucking life,” Jon said slowly. Sansa scowled at him, blushing and tucking her phone into her purse.

Jon made a mental note to text her mom that Baelish might try something.

“The Devil’s Volcano.” Their server returned with a chirp, setting down their dessert between them. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” Sansa beamed, grabbing one spoon and handing the other to Jon. The mountainous lava cake covered in vanilla ice cream beckoned. It vanished as quickly as the lemon cakes at lunch had.

Jon let Sansa take the last bite, knowing that if he didn’t, she’d accuse him of eating the whole thing. She groaned, leaning back into the booth. Jon was content to watch her, taking another sip of his wine.

“What?” Sansa said.

“Nothing.”

“Do I have chocolate all over my face?” Sansa raised her napkin to her lips instantly. Jon chuckled.

“No,” Jon shook his head. She lifted her eyebrows. “You’re beautiful, Sans, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Sansa’s napkin fell back to her lap, pink climbing through her cheeks as she gazed stoically across the restaurant. Jon watched her struggle with a smile for a moment, then she turned toward him and unleashed it.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, taking her spoon and setting it in the bowl with his. He moved it to the outside edge of the table.

“It’d be rather foolish to do so before you’d gotten your massive inheritance,” Sansa hummed.

“You’d have to marry me to be entitled to it,” Jon said. Sansa blinked at him, and his words finally registered to his own brain. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you know, legally—erm—legally speaking, of course.”

“Jon,” she said softly, reaching across the table for his hand. “It’s fine.”

“It’s our first date and I-“

“Jon, this isn’t anywhere close to a normal first date and you know it,” Sansa chided. “It’s okay. I’m not going to go running for the hills.”

“Okay,” Jon said softly.

“Plus, we’ve been married since we were six, remember?” Sansa took a sip of her wine with her free hand, lacing her fingers with Jon’s with the other. “No need to be shy about it now.”

“You don’t think you’d be losing your freedom?” Jon asked.

“Of course not,” Sansa said. “Besides, I’m willing to lose a touch of freedom if it means I get to be with you.”

Gods, he was in love with her.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jon muttered. Sansa squeezed his hand.

“You’ve made me feel like a person again,” Sansa said quietly. “You . . . You’re the most important person in my life. And I mean that.”

He didn’t want to believe her. He wanted to argue—her family, Theon and Margaery. But her circle was small, and she played things close. She had to protect herself, after everything, and he didn’t need to make her explain that. He could see the truth in her eyes.

“Thank you,” Jon whispered. She smiled again, though it was a little sad. “It- that . . . Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she leaned over to kiss his cheek softly. She pulled away, meeting his eyes again.

“We should go back to the apartment,” Jon said lowly.

“Yeah,” Sansa nodded.

The server traded their plate for the bill. Jon staunchly fought Sansa off before she could even see it. He put it on the account his dad had safety-netted and tipped well.

He should’ve known something was up by the way the guards fluttered about and swelled in number.

When they headed back to the car, a tall man with silver hair and violet eyes was leaning against the hood.


	27. Rhaegar and Rhaegar Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon discuss security concerns

Sansa didn’t know which Targaryen had graced them with his presence—Jon’s father or his uncle. That thought alone had her clutching tighter to Jon as her heart rate kicked up a fair few notches. Rhaenys had told her that Viserys was just Rhaegar Light, but that didn’t help her identify the man half-sitting on the hood of the SUV in jeans and a sweater. Except—the bodyguards, and there were a fair few, hadn’t tackled him to the ground. So, they were either in deep shit one way, or maybe just as deep shit the other way?

She wondered idly if she’d be any less panicked if she knew with any certainty which one it was. If warning would have helped or not. Jon seemed tense but not furious—that meant his dad? Unless he was just hiding his emotions better than she thought. There was no madness in the Targaryen’s eyes at least.

“Hey, Jon,” he said softly.

Jon let go of her hand, moving closer. “Dad.”

Rhaegar (it was definitely him) jumped off the hood to embrace Jon. He looked young to Sansa, younger than her own father. He had to be, she thought, by at least five years. Unless some of his money had gone into gaining a plastic face. He pulled away from Jon, grasping his shoulders and beaming. “You’re doing all right?”

“Yeah,” Jon said.

“You really are? You’re not just saying that?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m really okay,” Jon said. He looked back at Sansa, grinning broadly. His father’s violet eyes jumped to her.

“You must be Sansa,” he strode forward, hand outstretched. She nodded, shaking it carefully. “Suspicious one. Always a good sign, Jon.”

Jon grimaced. Sansa offered him a small smile as Rhaegar backed away. “What are— _ahem_ —what are you doing here, Dad?”

“Crashing your date, apparently,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Sansa said quietly. She shivered as a cool breeze kicked up litter down the street. One of the guards stepped on it, then grabbed it and carried it to a trashcan. She shuffled closer to Jon, reclaiming his hand.

“Do you, uh, need . . . something?” Jon asked, watching his father with a strange expression Sansa could hardly place. Hope and awkwardness and . . . she couldn’t quite name it. She’d never seen him look at anyone that way before, not even his siblings.

“Yes, we need to talk about the gala tomorrow,” Rhaegar’s voice dropped slightly, and he gestured toward the SUV. “Security needs to loop you in and give you background roles . . . If you’re okay with that?”

The same unplaceable expression overtook Rhaegar’s face. Sansa bit her lip. She knew what it was. It didn’t _have_ a name, per se, though ‘striving’ might be close. Rhaegar wanted Jon to love him. Jon wanted Rhaegar to love him.

They were both underplaying it, and it wasn’t working well for either man. Sansa would bet every hair on her head that Rhaegar needed as much verbal affirmation as Jon. She had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

Men.

“Yeah, Dad, that’s fine,” Jon shrugged.

“Great,” Rhaegar smiled, pulling open the door for them. “Hop in.”

Sansa had to put her hand on Jon’s thigh to still his jumping knee before they pulled away from the curb. He glanced at her, and there was an open vulnerability to him that made her want to hide him from the rest of the world. She shifted closer, taking his hand in hers and twining their fingers together. Rhaegar turned around in the passenger seat to address them as the driver merged into traffic. “Okay, so. Red carpet starts at seven, dinner, technically, is at nine, so eat before you go. Rhae and Eggy are planning on getting there at eight-oh-seven, Elia isn’t coming, I’m sure I’ll show up before food arrives.”

“Sir, you really do need to pick a time,” said the driver.

“I’ll get to it eventually . . . in the next twenty-two hours or so.” Rhaegar waved him off. “Anyhow. The plan as it stands is for you two to be Rhae and Eggy’s entourage, help them touch up between stops and interviews, then follow them inside and keep an eye out on them. Or get shitfaced, but Jon mentioned you’re both trying to cut back a little?”

The question was directed at her, and the full force of his concerned violet eyes struck her mute for a moment. He really did look worried about it—like he’d help if he could. If he was a two-faced sneak, he was very good at it. Sansa nodded. “Just a little. We tend to . . .” She glanced at Jon, who offered the barest flinch before she finished, “Miscommunicate.”

“That’s understandable,” he smiled reassuring. Jon leaned over and kissed her cheek lightly. She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, wondering idly how he was going to be able to calm himself down. She’d never seen him so tightly wound. “After you’re in, there shouldn’t be any reporters or media. Just eat, dance, and talk the night away. You can leave whenever you feel like it, with or without Rhae and Eggy. Sound good?”

“The dress—is it okay?” Sansa asked. She’d sent photos to Rhaenys, from every angle she could reach with the mirror and her phone. Of course, she knew it couldn’t be too far off the mark, it wasn’t like they had a back-up, but some part of her was still concerned.

“Rhaenys assures me it’ll be perfect,” Rhaegar said. Sansa tried not to smile too evilly. When Sansa had relayed her wants and goals for the dress, all Rhaenys had responded with were devil emojis. He turned to Jon. “I understand you haven’t seen it?”

“Not technically,” Jon said. _Not at all._ Sansa bit on her lip to tamp down her smile as he side-eyed her. “She wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Try not to hyperventilate,” Rhaegar winked. “Your Sansa is a knock-out.”

“Dad.”

“Just saying,” he held up his hands. “Rhae and Eggy aren’t likely to settle down anytime soon, what with the number of NDAs sliding through Barristan’s office yearly. Well, the numbers are actually fairly lopsided, but I think the point stands, just for different reasons.”

“Dad!”

“Oh, I don’t look that closely at them,” Rhaegar said, “I’m mostly joking.”

The smile agreed—his eyes didn’t. His eyes held that striving from before.

He really thought he was a shit dad.

Sansa wasn’t sure if he was right to think it or not.

“We’d have cute kids,” Sansa kissed Jon’s cheek. She didn’t really know what she was saying, but if he could bring up marriage, she could bring up children. She wanted to kiss him fully, but with his dad and the driver, she couldn’t. His dark eyes stuck on her as she kissed his cheek again. “Look like Merida from _Brave_.”

“Sans,” he grumbled.

“Big red hair, dark eyes-“

“Blue eyes,” he shook his head.

“You’d be great,” she whispered, just for him. There was a burning in his gaze that she’d never felt with anyone else. It’d been that way forever, she thought, even when they were much younger. The thing that made her daydream as a teenager, the look that had her hoping the night they’d celebrated his birthday that summer before she went to King’s Landing.

He had a few ideas about unwinding, then. Sansa swallowed, shifting a little bit as she held his eyes. He looked like he wanted to eat her alive—and he might.

“Rhaenys failed to fill me in on all the details,” Rhaegar said slowly. “You’re Sansa Stark, you two grew up together?”

“Yeah,” Sansa cleared her throat, pulling away from Jon.

“But—forgive me, this might be rude—He’s never mentioned you before now,” Rhaegar said, his suspicion nearly covered. Nearly. “Obviously, I knew Ned had five, and that he had two girls, but in terms of _Jon-_ Well, he lives with Robb and he sees Arya all the time and Bran and Rickon are still in school- I’m sorry, I’m having trouble fitting you into it all.”

“I went to New Red Keep University for undergrad,” Sansa said. “So, I was in King’s Landing for four years, including when . . . The accident happened. I moved back North for work after, to Moat Cailin. I never went home for . . . Almost six years. I had . . . I had a difficult relationship for a time, but I moved to Winterfell after.”

Jon took her hand, kissing the back of it.

“And you haven’t gone home yet?”

“No . . . Not really,” Sansa muttered. For the longest time, she’d waited for Robb to drag her back, but she seriously didn’t think she could look her mother in the eye. She’d made such a big deal about going South, about finding her passion there, and her mother had always been abundantly supportive. She didn’t want to be told to go back. She couldn’t go back, not alone, not for good, not again. She didn’t know what her father would say. Probably nothing. That might be even worse.

“You must have worried your family, vanishing like that,” said Rhaegar.

“I did,” Sansa said softly. She hadn’t seen Rickon in six years. He’d be a teenager now, and it genuinely worried her that he just would not remember her. She swallowed. “This is the first big holiday since . . . I’ve been in Winterfell. That’s why we have to go back home day after tomorrow. It’d be wonderful to stay, gods, it’d be amazing, but my mother would just kill me.”

Her big opportunity for a triumphant return home, and she’d gone to hide in the South with Jon. No, she would not be looking her mother in the eye anytime soon.

“Speaking of, you’re not the only one to crash our date, Dad,” said Jon. Rhaegar looked back at him, his jaw clenching in a way Sansa knew well. “Petyr Baelish came to have a chat.”

“What a prick,” the driver said under his breath.

“Roland,” Rhaegar chided. He took a deep breath. “Arthur told me. What did he say?”

Jon recounted the conversation (almost word for word) while Sansa watched the streets pass out the window. They were driving in circles close to the apartment. Rhaegar might not have planned for all the side chatter.

They passed a little ramen shop for the fourth time. “Can’t we just stop wasting gas and go talk in the penthouse?”

Sansa turned away from the window to find Jon and Rhaegar watching her with twin gazes, both half alarmed, half embarrassed. “Oh, that would make more sense, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Rhaegar shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

“There’s hardly any evidence that we’re there outside the bedroom, it’s okay for you to come up into the penthouse you _own_ ,” Sansa said. Rhaegar raised his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly as he watched her. A chill ran down her spine. She gazed back calmly regardless.

“A woman with a plan,” Rhaegar hummed, lips twisting into a smile.

“A suggestion, at least,” Sansa said.

“Roland, drop us off. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”

Sansa got herself a glass of water as Jon and Rhaegar settled around the island. She tried to pay attention, she really did, but it seemed a situation Jon had well in hand, and she wasn’t sure that claiming that the Baelish fellow gave off bad vibes was much help.

She was far too busy brooding about how very _interrupted_ their first date was. She wanted to scream at Rhaegar to leave already. Couldn’t he tell she wanted to make out with his son? And then drain the tension from him, muscle by muscle. And let him reward her good behavior and maybe, just maybe, if she was feeling especially charitable, let him punish whatever transgressions he could fabricate.

But there were security concerns, apparently, and there was no grace to be found so close to the gala. There was too much at stake. They talked circles around Baelish, circles and circles and circles. Jon wanted to hit him. He was in charge of media for the gala. Jon wanted to hit him. He had the paparazzi photos from earlier in the day. Jon wanted to hit him. He was rich. Jon wanted to hit him. Sansa nearly chimed in that _she_ wanted to hit him and _then_ let Jon hit him, but it didn’t seem like a worthy contribution. At the end of it, no matter what he did, Baelish was too powerful a man to touch, it seemed.

Sansa wanted to go home. She never wanted to play these games again, no matter how great Jon looked while he considered the various courses of action they might take. The way he looked as his lively discussion turned to leaning over the kitchen island and making point on an invisible map. Like he was plotting out a battle he planned to win and win confidently. She didn’t doubt that they could navigate it all and end up on top. She just didn’t need any of that kind of stress in her life, certainly not at that moment.

“You all right?” Jon asked. He’d rolled up the sleeves to his button up, put his hair back in a bun. He watched her over his shoulder, braced over the marble-topped counter.

His ass looked damn fine.

“I don’t know that I can deal with all this,” she said quietly. Rhaegar’s gaze snapped to her, but she could only watch Jon. He nodded.

“I know it’s a lot.”

“Somehow I doubt I’ll get used to it, even if I should,” Sansa mused. She refilled her water and kept sipping at it. She wasn’t going to be waking up with a wine headache. She had to enjoy King’s Landing with Jon while she could.

“This isn’t something you get used to easily,” Rhaegar said. Carefully, like he knew the weight of any word out of his mouth. “Most of us are poorly adjusted for regular society.”

“Speaking of,” Jon said. “Viserys. Why was he cut off? Why is he bothering Sansa?”

Rhaegar sighed, rubbing at his face. Perhaps for the first time, he looked his age. He shrugged his shoulders a little. “He . . . You can’t reveal this to _anyone,_ not until she announces it, but Daenerys is pregnant. He implied the baby would not be born.”

“Azor Ahai,” Sansa whispered. Jon looked back at her, his eyes wide. His face went white steadily.

“What does he want with Sansa, then?”

“I’ve actually spoken with Jeor Mormont about that,” Rhaegar said. Jon blinked. “Yes, I know who your boss is . . . I only reached out because I don’t know what Viserys will do. He’s become unhinged since we gave the Essossi handlings to Daenerys. I hadn’t realized how far things would go.”

“Why did he contact Sansa?” Jon grit out.

“The attachment on the email would have sent her GPS coordinates-“

“What?!”

“I didn’t open it!” Sansa said hastily. “I never- I didn’t even hardly _read_ it, I just took screenshots and deleted it.”

“What did Mormont tell you?” Jon demanded. “Why the hell would you drag _him_ into this all?”

“I asked him if his son expressed any curiosity about you or Sansa when they met. Mormont, stodgy old beast that he is, didn’t offer any information about either of you, though he claims it was because Jorah didn’t pry,” said Rhaegar. “He did, however, share with me the delightful tale of your original coupling as garnered from the office rumor mill.”

“Dad,” Jon said lowly. “None of this is funny to me.”

Sansa set her water down and slipped her hand into his, leaning her head against his shoulder. Rhaegar sighed heavily. “I know, son. I just . . . I don’t have answers yet. We know how he found Sansa, yes, but not why he thinks her important enough to harass. There were three more messages he never sent in his drafts. They’re all closer to madness than . . . I think he believes she’s trying to steal his inheritance by taking it from you, Jon, after you’ve taken it from him. The time of day that the emails were sent—he was likely trying to narrow down the location of your apartment. That’s . . . That’s all I have.”

“I couldn’t inherit anything unless Rhae and Eggy- unless something horrible happened or they both become incapable of producing children overnight,” Jon shook his head. Rhaegar flinched, his jaw clenching tight as he nodded. “Unless there’s some kind of-“

“Rhaenys is not technically allowed to be considered for the bulk of the inheritance.”

“What? Why not? Aerys is dead, his money is _yours,_ his conditions no longer apply.”

“It’s the prenup, not the will-“

“You’re _divorced!”_

“It’s still a contract that pertains to how my children are treated by the estate!”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Jon cried. “Aerys had lost his mind, you could reverse almost everything-“

“Jon, that’s still my father you’re talking about,” Rhaegar said sharply. Jon shook his head. “The prenup—most of the conditions were written under the presumption that I would divorce her. We weren’t really worried about it, but if Viserys found something . . . I have the original lawyers and a few more double checking, making sure we have everything.”

“I don’t understand, why is Rhaenys not-“

“She’s openly gay.”

“Bi,” Jon corrected tightly.

“Right. I’ll admit, I don’t understand the language-“

“She calls herself bi, it’s a pretty good hint,” Jon snapped.

“Jon,” Sansa squeezed his hand gently. He scrubbed at his beard with his free hand. His shoulders were halfway to his ears.

“My father was the worst sort of traditionalist,” Rhaegar said quietly. “He knew he was dying when I was engaged to Elia. He laid a minefield of a prenup for us, and some of the clauses precluded allowing any- any _not perfectly straight_ children access to his money. Which is actually my money now, and I love Rhae just as she is. It’s a lot of what ifs for when I die, which I hope won’t be soon. Legally, on my side of things, Jon isn’t a factor in any of this, which is why it’s so strange that you and he have become Viserys’s focus in all of this. You’d think Aegon would be the one in danger.”

“His logic _is_ all over the place.” Sansa sighed, shaking her head. “I mean, wouldn’t trying to steal the Targaryen fortune make me a gold digger, not a whore?”

“Sans,” Jon wrapped his free arm around her. He kissed her forehead gently. “You’re neither.”

“Look at my track record,” Sansa tried for a wry smile. “Lannister, Bolton . . . Now you.”

“Gods have mercy on your soul, you dated the Lannister boy?!” Rhaegar grimaced something foul. While the shift in conversation managed to ease some of the tension, it hardly made Sansa any more comfortable. She should’ve started with something else. “I’m inclined to give you the beach house for that alone.”

Before Sansa could jump on the fact that he had a beach house he was willing to give away, Jon jumped in. “Really, the Bolton wasn’t any better.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. The Bolton was the one whose face you caved in?”

“Little bit, yeah. Honestly, if you get me within fifteen feet of the Lannister, he wouldn’t fare much better. He seems like a skinny little prick.”

“Jon!” Sansa cried. He only shrugged.

“As your father, of course, I don’t condone any of it,” Rhaegar said lowly. “Though I certainly understand the urge.”

“You _caved his face in?”_ Sansa hissed.

“I told you I beat the shit out of him,” Jon said lowly. “What’d you think that meant, exactly?”

The dark look in his eyes, the little feral smirk curling his lips, even the way he lifted an eyebrow—it made Sansa want to combust. She wanted to scream at him and kiss him and hit him all at once.

Maybe she should reward some of his good behavior. And punish that dreadful smirk that shouldn’t ever come to light while they were both clothed and in front of someone else and so many blasted cameras and-

But the easiest way to handle the smirk was to kiss him, and she desperately wanted to do that. Apparently, Rhaegar could tell, clearing his throat a little aggressively as Sansa stared at Jon and Jon stared at Sansa.

“Sorry,” she muttered, drawing away from him to get her glass of water again. She grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wiped at a non-existent stain.

“What were we talking about?” Jon asked. Sansa bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Event security for the gala knows to keep Viserys out if he tries to get in. The press knows he’s been renounced, the police know he’s unhinged and has made threats.”

“Is Barristan-“

“Barristan and Arthur are going to be your detail during the gala. Barristan’s going to be with Rhae and Eggy more, though.”

“Arthur’s going to be there?” Sansa glanced over at Jon at the hopeful breathlessness in his voice. Rhaegar smiled, nodding. “Gods, it’s been years since I’ve seen him.”

“He’s the one I thought was your dad?” Sansa asked tentatively. Jon nodded.

Rhaegar chuckled under his breath. “He’s a good man. He’s worked security for me since before my father passed. He’s excited to meet you, Sansa.”

Sansa wasn’t foolish or blind enough to miss the tightness in Rhaegar’s smile. What an idiot she was, saying aloud that she’d presumed another man Jon’s father in front of his real father. She couldn’t imagine the choices Rhaegar faced when Jon was born. Letting his security guard take his place at the hospital—it couldn’t have been a choice made lightly.

“Well, if you vouch for him, he can’t be all bad,” Sansa sighed, then returned to cleaning the spotless counters.

“Is there anything else, Dad?” Jon asked.

“Nothing that can’t wait until after the gala, Jon,” said Rhaegar. “Are you two still planning on coming to the manor for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, provided we get some measure of sleep tonight,” Jon said.

“I’m going to show Jon the public gardens. They were always my favorite when I lived here and Jon’s never been,” Sansa said.

“Ah, good choice,” Rhaegar said. “I can’t give you Arthur for that, but Lewyn might accompany you.”

“Elia’s uncle? Dad, he’ll _murder me_ and frame Sansa,” Jon scoffed.

“Well, what about Gerold-“

“We don’t need a guard, it’s a public place-“

“It can get very tight in there, Jon, there are a lot of spots-“

“Dad!”

“Jon,” Sansa said lowly. “Would you mind listening to the ones who know King’s Landing?”

“Sans,” Jon scowled at her.

“I was almost mugged in the gardens one of the last times I went,” Sansa said. Jon’s eyes widened, and even Rhaegar sucked in a breath a little hastily. “Nothing happened, I didn’t have any money anyway, and Margaery’s brother, Loras, actually came ‘round the bend before anything- but- it’s not a bad idea, Jon. That’s- That’s all.”

“You never said-“

“I honestly forgot,” Sansa said quickly. “It- It was years ago.”

“You want to go get me mugged, is that it Stark?” Jon asked, the slightest spark of mirth lighting his eyes. Sansa felt her shoulders loosen at the sight.

“Rumor has it you’ve got the money to lose, Snow,” she answered.

“You know if you’re lying just to make _him_ happy, we’re going to have a conversation, right?” Jon lifted his eyebrows, jerking his head toward his father.

“Ask Marg. Ask Marg to ask Loras. He’s in town with his boyfriend still, I think. Or they’ve gone to High Garden with her,” Sansa said. “I don’t think you should accuse me of lying in front of _him_.”

“I don’t think you should talk about _him_ as though he isn’t here,” said Rhaegar. “Though he is thankful to be in the presence of such a gracious woman, coming to his aid in defense against his son.”

“Arguing with Jon isn’t fun,” Sansa said, sticking her tongue out at him. “He’s too well trained.”

“Ah, that’s what makes it fun for _you_ ,” Jon grinned. “It’s a challenge for once. I don’t go keeling over with a smile.”

“Shall we check the record on that?” Sansa said.

“No,” Jon laughed. “Please, don’t.”

“Well, as much as I’m enjoying this, it might be time for me to bow out,” Rhaegar raised his hands. “I’ll make sure Uncle Lewyn isn’t your guard.”

“Bye, Dad,” Jon said.

“Be careful, bud,” Rhaegar said. He lingered awkwardly at Jon’s side for a moment, then clapped his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jon nodded. “See you then.”

“Sansa, it really was a pleasure,” Rhaegar saluted her. “You wouldn’t mind telling me at least one instance where your smile won against his wit, would you? Just one?”

“Dad,” Jon groaned.

“I’m curious.”

“He used to pick me up from school, before my brother Robb could drive,” Sansa smiled. “I made him go get milkshakes instead of going straight home like normal. I tried to pay—I honestly did—but he wouldn’t even let me.”

“She’s a strawberry girl,” said Jon. Sansa glanced back at him. There was a softness about him that made her blush bright as a cherry. She ducked her head, watching Rhaegar move toward the door.

“Lovely meeting you, darling,” Rhaegar said. “Good night. Good luck, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: *spicy shit and the rating bumps up to E*  
> After that: *spicier shit*  
> After that: *Targaryen drama*  
> After that: Honestly I don't know it's taken me months but I'm finally catching up to myself and the thirteen endings I've written along the way don't match up so good to the current situation but I DO think I have a good idea?? Idk man it might get bumpy if the world ever returns to normal lol
> 
> Also, I've been writing that Rhaegar Wins Semi-Canon with the North Independent AU that I started for Jonsa AU Week months ago . . . instead of writing for this but it's still Jonsa so it's okay right? Right??? I mean, I've got shared trauma, snarky Sansa, besotted Jon, secret identities, crazy Stannis, dancing, sparring shirtless, Tarth, Brienne of Tarth . . . The whole kit and caboodle really.


	28. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa forget some things and remember some other things
> 
> Also ;)

“You just had to take his side,” Jon said under his breath. He didn’t think he was upset about it, not really, but he didn’t like the idea of someone else getting hurt for him. And he believed Sansa about being mugged. She wouldn’t lie about something like that, and it was probably one of the most mundane things that had happened to her, all things considered. Jon watched her carefully, but she only rolled her eyes. “Sansa, how am I supposed to smuggle you off to ravish you in public with a professional guard on our tail?”

“Poor Jon Snow, can’t kiss the girl in public,” Sansa sang. She messed up his hair with one hand, the other sliding along his chest. Even that simple touch had him whirring into overdrive. “However will you cope?”

“I’m going to keep you up all night,” Jon warned. Sansa raised her eyebrows in that way that reminded him of her mother. It was just barely less terrifying from her. “You’ll be too tired to leave bed before noon.”

“You promised me a movie,” Sansa pouted.

“Aye, that I did,” Jon said. “You’ll want to remain awake for the duration of that. And after . . .”

“After?” Sansa leaned closer.

“I’ve given a lot of thought to how I want you,” Jon whispered. “We’ll start checking things off my list.”

“I have my own list, Jon.”

“Do you want a hint?”

“About?”

“What we’re starting with.”

“Hmm, do tell, please,” Sansa said. “I need to cross-reference it with what’s at the top of my list.”

“It was something Margaery said,” Jon hummed, pressing his lips to her jaw. He worked his way down her neck and back to her ear. She made a little gasping sound that was far too encouraging. “Something I can be your first for.”

“Jon, if you pay any attention to my needs at all, it’d be a first,” she said breathily.

“Which is a shame,” Jon said. He kissed her cheek. “But I have something more specific in mind.”

“You want to . . .” Sansa’s cheeks went pink. “Hm, how many firsts have I got left?”

“I’ll get to them all,” he promised lowly.

“Margaery said . . . _Oh_. You want to go down on me,” Sansa went red as a tomato, breathing heavily against him as he nuzzled at her neck again. Her fingers twisted into his hair as she gasped. “Jon, you- you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Jon kissed her softly. “But I _really_ want to. If- If you want me to, that is.”

“Oh, I- You-“ she sighed. “Can we skip the stupid movie, then?”

“No, after,” Jon said, though part of him was screaming _now now now_ like a child. She wanted him to do it, her eyes were all but sparkling. And he wanted to see- to hear- to touch- to taste. He also wanted to do something sweet—dinner and a movie in the best way he could. That was the plan. He should just stick to the plan. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

“Fine,” she pouted. “I’m going to go change into something slightly less fancy.”

“Shouldn’t I do the same?” Jon asked.

“Yes, well, you can wait until I’m done,” Sansa said sternly. She pulled away from him, chin high, but he caught her wrist, drawing her back to him. He was really bad at this whole plan thing. “Stop teasing.”

“Teasing is half the fun,” Jon murmured. “But if you want me to pick you up and put you on the table and have you for dessert, there’s not much convincing to do.”

“We already had dessert,” Sansa said.

“Do you want me to stop teasing or not,” Jon growled.

“I think you can’t take what you dish out,” Sansa nudged her nose against his. Jon pressed closer, brushing his lips against hers. “I’m going to go upstairs and change.”

“You’re a spiteful little thing,” Jon said.

“You’re just upset because you don’t want to watch the movie,” Sansa said. “You want me to smile and say please and you want to eat me out, and you want me to want that.”

“Sans,” Jon groaned.

“But I want to see what movie you’ve picked that you think I’ll like,” Sansa said.

“I know you’ll like it.”

“We’ll see,” Sansa kissed his cheek. “And then we’ll start on our list.”

“That’s fine with me,” Jon said.

“No, it’s not,” Sansa smirked and danced away from him. Jon watched her ascend the stairs, dropping a hand to his hip. She blew him a kiss and vanished down the hallway. Jon let out a slow breath.

It had been a minute for him. And now there was build up and teasing and . . . Well, at least her bar was earth shatteringly low. If he didn’t pull a knife it’d be the best experience she ever had.

“Fuck,” Jon muttered, taking his hair out of its bun so he could properly rake his hands through it. His mind didn’t need to wander any more than that. Jon took another fortifying breath and set up the movie. He turned off the TV so she wouldn’t see and pulled at his shirt, undoing another button. He flopped into the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

He was exhausted. He didn’t know when he’d gotten exhausted, but he was. Maybe it had happened before they’d left Winterfell, when he was working on that kid’s case. Part of him wanted to go home and keep working on it—it wasn’t like the kid got to have a fancy holiday. But that just made him feel more exhausted. He was physically tired. He was mentally tired. He was emotionally tired. He was just exhausted.

And Sansa expected something of him.

“You all right?” Hands slid over his shoulders, and he opened his eyes to find Sansa hanging over him. Her hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun. Her voice was low, calm. He struggled to keep his eyes open. “We had a long day. Longer than normal, at least.”

“Yeah,” Jon said lamely.

“Go get changed,” she ducked down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll try not to pass out on the couch.”

“Was I asleep?” Jon frowned.

“Yes,” Sansa chuckled a little before her smile flipped. “Are you all right? Really? You were tired before we left Winterfell.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not just saying that because you want to have sex with me?”

“Sans,” Jon sighed. She pulled away. “I’m going to go get changed. And then we’re going to watch this movie and not fall asleep at any point during it.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll either pass out or do adult things and then pass out.”

“Adult things?” Sansa lifted her eyebrows _that way_ again, and Jon stood, wiping at his face for a second. She caught him before he reached the stairs, stopping him and planting her hands on his chest. “Jon, I’m serious. You’ve been working a lot and dealing with me and your family is insane-“

“First of all, I don’t _deal_ with you,” said Jon, touching her cheek lightly. “And yes, I am stressed and I am tired and . . . But this is supposed to be a vacation for you. This is a holiday.” He kissed her brow. “So I’m going to watch this movie with you because we’re having a date and I want it to be a good date because I want to have another date with you.”

“That’s a little out of the question by now,” Sansa kissed him gently. “Go get changed.”

“What d’you mean it’s out of the question?”

“It means I’m going to go on another date with you no matter how this one ends,” Sansa kissed his cheek. “Now, go.”

Jon ran upstairs quickly, finding grey sweats and a black t-shirt that seemed reasonable enough. His mind ran through her words again. A guaranteed second date. He hadn’t had that . . . ever, he was pretty sure. And really, what was the point in counting? He’d essentially been dating since that first night they’d gotten drunk in his room, who was he kidding numbering anything? He hung up the suit as he worked his tired thoughts through the conundrum. He hadn’t figured anything out by the time he was descending the stairs again.

“Did you hide the remote so I wouldn’t peek?”

“No, I think you just didn’t notice where I put it,” Jon plucked it from the little shelf on the underside of the coffee table and fell into the couch next to her. She was wearing a pair of her little flimsy pajama shorts and a tank top. As he settled in, she shifted to lean into him. “This is where you realize that I’m not one hundred percent idiot.”

“Hmm, prove it,” Sansa hummed, resting her head against him. He lifted an arm and wrapped it around her.

He turned on the TV, grinning as the movie popped up and he hit play.

“Oh, fine,” Sansa sighed. “You’re not totally screwed in the head.”

He watched _Pride and Prejudice_ (2005) for about ten minutes before Sansa became maddeningly distracting. The way she smiled when her favorite moments played out (and every other shot seemed to be a favorite), the way she bit her lip to stop from mouthing the lines aloud (all of which she knew by heart), the way she leaned into him (more and more and more).

Jon let his arm shift where it was over her shoulders to settle closer to her waist, drawing her attention enough that she looked away from the TV. He stole a kiss while he could, letting his hand settle on her bare thigh.

“Quit making moves on me and watch the movie,” she murmured, kissing him again.

“Okay,” he shrugged. She narrowed her eyes before focusing on the movie. He liked the movie well enough, but he could feel sleep dragging at him. If he fell asleep during _Pride and Prejudice_ with her _again_ , she would have Arya murder him. And he very much liked being not murdered.

He didn’t realize he was stroking her thigh until she shifted and pressed into him. Her skin was soft. And he didn’t mind that she hadn’t shaved since whenever. For some reason it was soothing to just drag his fingers this way and that way and back.

Once he knew, however, it was hard to keep those fingers from drifting. With his eyes fully focused on the screen, he lifted his hand just a little. _Just a little_ closer to the apex of her thighs. He could feel her cut her eyes at him and his fingers drifted back to start. Then made another little venture. He could feel it when goosebumps prickled her skin.

“Watch the movie,” Sansa whispered.

“I am,” Jon answered.

“You’re trying to turn me on.”

“What?”

Sansa gripped his wrist, pulling it off her thigh. She turned to give him one of those looks. Eyebrows up. And her mother was the last thing on his mind.

“I really don’t know when I started doing that,” he said. “It’s calming. Your skin is nice.”

“Jon, if this is torture for you-“

“It’s not, it’s helping, there’s a lot . . . A lot for me to think about and it’s helping,” Jon finished lamely. “Much easier to see Mr. Darcy’s awkwardness than experience my own.”

“Jon,” she sighed, offering him a chaste little kiss. Still, she pulled his arm off her and settled it in between them.

Honestly, that was probably better because he’d be able to finger her without putting her in his lap.

Jon cursed himself for the very thought and kept still.

Until it became clear that keeping still was very much related to dozing off.

He risked putting his hand on her thigh again. She gave him a warning glance and he shrugged, “Is it a date if I _don’t_ make moves?”

“It’s distracting,” Sansa murmured.

“It’s not distracting if you still know everything that’s happening,” Jon said, tracing circles into her thigh. His mind caught on something and he smiled. “I’ll make you a deal. If I make you cum and you can tell me what the next line is before you’re all the way down, I’ll do it again until you can’t.”

“Don’t test me,” her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. Jon only smiled broader. She didn’t believe him for the wrong reason. “You think you’re all that, really?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“What if the absurdly improbable happens and I can’t give you the next line?”

“Then I’ll admit that I’m a distraction and we’ll either continue this another day or I’ll sit next to you, keeping my hands to myself, with a raging hard on until it’s over,” Jon suggested.

“And if you can’t make me cum?”

Jon let out a bark of laughter. “I’ll figure out another approach until you do.”

“Fine,” Sansa said sharply. She settled back into the couch. “Do your worst.”

Jon watched her for a moment, trying to decide if she’d agreed because she wanted to or felt like she had to. The little smile on her face was almost smug, almost. He shook his head a little. Of course, she wanted this—she’d been trying to get him to do so all night, hadn’t she? Still, it was better to make sure.

“If you want me to stop for any reason, no matter when or why, just tell me,” Jon said lowly. “Being right isn’t more important than you feeling comfortable.”

“Okay,” Sansa gripped his chin for a moment, kissing him, teasing him with her tongue for just a second before pulling back. He coaxed another little kiss out of her before she turned away. “No more blocking the screen.”

“All right,” Jon kissed her cheek, settling in next to her. He replaced his hand on her thigh, continuing his idle stroking until her shoulders loosened and she relaxed slowly. He gradually moved up and in, holding his ground when she tensed and advancing when she melted again. He was pushing at the edge of her shorts when he noticed the labored way she breathed. Her head fell against his shoulder as she watched the movie.

“Isn’t this a- a little bit . . . um . . . _teenager?”_ Sansa asked quietly.

“Probably, considering how often I thought about you letting me do this when we were younger,” Jon kissed her hair gently, pausing. He could practically feel her thinking.

“Remember that night, when we had your summer birthday, before I went to King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered.

“Yes,” Jon answered. She’d looked adult, beautiful, eighteen and ready to conquer the world. Jon had gotten snowed in during the ‘spring’ semester (really they should just call it the winter semester and not delude themselves), and the party Robb and Theon had planned fell apart for months, until Jon was finally back for the summer. Sansa had been deemed a college kid and allowed to come, although she was still under her mother’s curfew at the time.

“There were all those tiki torches lining the driveway,” Sansa sighed. Jon let his fingers start moving again, brushing against her shorts and her skin and maybe those were her panties. He didn’t advance any further, holding position idly. “And one of Theon’s friends wouldn’t stop hitting on me so you offered to walk me back.”

“I remember,” Jon said.

“I hadn’t talked to you in months, but it was so easy,” Sansa said. Jon kissed her hair again. “And Robb went on ahead and we were just talking and walking slower than I’ve ever walked in my life, and we reached the road and stopped.”

“And your mother shouted across the street at you,” Jon smiled.

Sansa pinched him. “Yeah, but before that, I- maybe I was just stupid, but I could’ve sworn you looked like you were going to kiss me.”

“Oh, I was definitely going to try,” Jon admitted. “I was a little bit drunk and you were a little bit drunk and . . . I don’t know, you looked like you wanted me to.”

“I did,” Sansa whispered. “Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t I just say your mother shouted at you?” Jon said. “She was definitely watching us. She would’ve come out with a broom and beat me to death if I’d touched you after that.”

“Hmm, probably,” Sansa turned toward him and kissed him softly. “Don’t stop.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to block the movie,” Jon leaned into her, pleased at the way she melted into him. She straightened after a long moment, pushing on his chest.

“You aren’t. You’re cheating,” she frowned.

“You kissed me, Sansa,” Jon grinned. She glowered at him, shifting her legs so one was in his lap. He kissed her temple as she made a big show of returning focus to her movie.

He had to make a decision about how to fit his hands in her pants. Sideways through the leg hole, or retreat and down through aisle one? Given he was already pretty committed to the leg thing, he decided to keep with that.

Her thighs drifted further apart as his fingers teased under the loose pajama shorts.

“Jon, I swear, if you don’t- don’t get on with it,” she shook as he used the opportunity to slide his hand into her panties. Her very wet panties. He’d barely touched her when a breathy sound left her. “Gods, Jon, just- just do it.”

“Do what?” He breathed. She shook her head against his shoulder. He ran his fingers against the coarse hairs, stroking back and forth as she squirmed. “Do you want my fingers in you? Or do you want them on your clit? What do you want, Sansa, love?”

“You,” she hummed. “I just want you to- I don’t know-“

“What do you do in the dead of the night when there’s no one to see you? Do you drag your fingers in and out of yourself, or do you rub little circles into your clit?”

“Jon?”

“How do you touch yourself?”

She was the brightest pink he’d ever seen on a face.

“I- I don’t, I can’t, I was sharing a bed with Arya and then you,” she said, hardly breathing.

“Everybody does it, you can tell me,” he said. “It’ll help make you feel better, love.”

“I just- I don’t- I just do circles over- _Jon!_ ” She jolted as he followed her instructions. She grabbed his wrist with one hand, the other digging into her own hair. “The- the other- other way.”

“Oh, lady knows what she likes,” Jon made the adjustment. She was all but melting into him and the couch. He kissed her hair as he doubled down on her, listening to her breathing stutter.

“Jon, you have to-“ she gasped. Her hips bucked against him once. “What are you . . .”

“I want you to cum,” Jon said lowly. “Because I think you haven’t ever cum on a man’s fingers before and because when you’re done cumming I’m going to taste you and make you cum again.”

“Jon.” Her grip on his wrist tightened as he continued his ministrations. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Her mouth fell open with a little squeak as her body shuddered and spasmed. Her head lolled back against the couch as he pulled his hand from her pants. Her grip fell away.

“Line?” Jon asked softly.

“Fuck you,” she panted, her eyes closing. She gave the next line regardless. Delivered it with perfect inflection and everything. Jon grinned, kissing her cheek lightly. “Smug fucking bastard.”

“Am I continuing, or do you need a minute?” Jon kissed her exposed neck for a lingering moment. Her hands dragged up into his hair and he groaned quietly, drawing himself up to look at her.

“Pause the movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise *I* did not forget about the cameras, but it seems like someone did [insert shocked Pikachu]  
> Next time they're actually going to get down to BUSINESS


	29. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's porn.

Jon dove for the remote and Sansa let out a delirious little laugh. She couldn’t stop touching him, scooting over into the end of the couch and letting him roll over her. Another laugh left her and then he was kissing her. There was hunger in him now, and she found she quite enjoyed it. It made losing much better than it had ever been before.

“Stop smiling so I can kiss you,” Jon said against her. She dragged her hands up underneath his shirt, trailing her nails across his muscles. He groaned, brushing his lips against hers. “I’m serious, Sansa.”

“I really like you,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek gently. “Even with your stupid job and your stupid family and all the weird shit-“

“You have no business calling my family stupid,” Jon chuckled, dragging his mouth down her neck. It took a very concerted effort to push both hands into his chest, to make him stop. “Sorry, I thought-“

“Cameras,” Sansa gasped out. “There’s cameras.”

“Oh, my gods,” Jon shot up. “Oh, holy shit, I’m a fucking idiot-“

“Let’s just go upstairs,” Sansa murmured, trying to fix her hair as she sat up. He shook his head, shifting away from her. “Jon-“

“I need to-“

“You don’t know that anyone’s paying attention-“

“I’ll have them erase it,” Jon said, getting up. He’d left his phone in the kitchen. Sansa righted her shorts and clambered after him, her legs just slightly wobbly. She had to think, get the blood back into her brain.

“I don’t want to draw attention to-“

“And I don’t want to see the look on your face when it pops up on the TV!” Jon snapped.

“Jon!”

“If it’s between a few people on the guard knowing and half the fucking world, I know damn well which one I’d rather it be,” Jon said. Sansa couldn’t help but gape at him. He looked so . . . scared. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look scared before. “There’s no hiding in this world, Sansa. There’s no hoping someone doesn’t notice. We’ve barely been here twelve hours and scum like _Baelish_ are interrupting our dinner!”

“This is madness,” Sansa said softly.

“Why do you think I didn’t want you to come,” Jon lowered his voice. Sansa swallowed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m an idiot on a good day, you think having you thrown into the mix distracting me is any help?”

“Jon, you’re not-“

“I just bloody _proved it_ ,” he hissed. Sansa shook her head, crossing the room in a rush of footsteps. She touched his jaw for a moment before leaning into him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Jon looped one arm around her waist. He tilted his head against hers, his breath easing. “Let me fix it. Please.”

“And then we’ll go upstairs,” Sansa murmured. “Destress.”

“Sansa,” he sighed.

“Fix the problem, and then be done thinking about it,” Sansa pulled away to look at him. There was a storm in his eyes, and she kissed him gently. “Please.”

“I have to call Barristan,” Jon said.

“I’ll wait upstairs,” Sansa answered. He ducked his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just fix it,” Sansa said again. “Fix it and be done with it.”

“Okay.”

Sansa kissed him again, then turned away to go upstairs. He caught her hand, pulling her back to kiss her.

“I’m going upstairs.”

“I mad at myself, not you,” Jon said. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“I know, it’s okay,” she reached up, touching his cheek for a moment. “But get it fixed, get over it, and join me upstairs.”

“All right, all right,” he kissed her anyway. She pinched him, dancing away quickly. She went upstairs hastily, turning only once to look back at him. He scrolled through his phone a moment before putting it to his ear.

“Yeah, I know it’s late. . . . I just- we have a camera problem. . . . We were on the couch and . . . I know. I know. It won’t happen again. . . . I mean- I mean in the living room . . .”

Sansa stepped into the room, closing the door most of the way behind her. She dragged her hands through her hair.

There was video footage of her . . . of him . . . _Video footage._

“Jon’s taking care of it,” she said softly to herself. She sat on the edge of the bed for all of a few seconds before she had to stand again.

Her eyes caught on the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. She drummed her fingers against her thighs for a moment, then yanked off her tank top. She kicked off her shorts too, pulling Jon’s shirt on. She rolled up the sleeves and left the buttons undone, then settled back on the bed. It smelled like him—it was a good smell. Distinctly Jon. Distinctly safe. She took a deep breath. She was going to be taking her panties off soon, wasn’t she? She took another deep breath through her nose and slid off her panties, slinging them across the room.

When she went to college, she’d accidentally stolen one of his sweatshirts, thinking it Robb’s. But it’d smelled different the first time she wore it, smelled like Jon. She was pretty sure Myrcella ended up with it somehow. Since returning to Winterfell, she’d always “forget” to bring a jacket when they went out. Robb and Jon took turns giving her theirs, and she often “forgot” to give Jon his jacket back until a few days later.

Jon stood in the doorway, watching her with those wonderfully dark eyes. Sansa blinked, tugging at the shirt a little.

“I figured this was easier to take off,” Sansa said quietly. Jon nodded, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I was wearing cute- cute panties but- I . . . Um.” He didn’t say anything, he just looked at her at it was . . . It was so much. “Except . . . I know you’re tired and you’re mad and . . . Do you want to just go to bed? It’s okay if you do, I-“

“You’re rambling,” he said softly, tugging off his shirt. Sansa bit her lip. She’d never get used to that sight—Jon shirtless. He had muscles that frankly seemed to have come straight from a magazine. Like he’d mail-ordered a body. “It’ll take getting more of the guard out of bed if I want to go to the gym, and even then, I’m not going to get nearly as distracted as if I throw your legs over my shoulders and devour you.”

“Jon,” Sansa whispered.

“Do _you_ want to go to bed?”

“No,” she shook her head hastily. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to,” Jon’s smile grew steadily wider. “You’re naked and in bed.”

“I’m mostly naked,” Sansa said, tugging at his shirt for proof.

“Okay,” Jon came closer, standing over her where she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t believe this,” Sansa murmured.

“Why not?” Jon knelt between her legs, running his hands along her thighs. She weaved her fingers into his hair and leaned in to kiss him.

“Because when Arya and Marg asked for all the glorious details, this is the first thing that popped into my head,” Sansa said.

“Looks like we’re getting a good start on both our lists,” Jon hummed, cupping her thighs and dragging them over his bare shoulders. Sansa curled closer to kiss him again. “You’re nervous.”

“I’ve never . . . No one’s ever- It’s just-“

“I’m going to try really hard not to suck at this,” Jon said quietly, touching her chin.

“Aren’t you supposed to suck just a little?”

“Very clever,” Jon grinned.

“And even if it is awful, I wouldn’t really have anything to compare it against,” Sansa said lightly.

“I’m going to be a smug bastard about this for a moment, Sans,” he said. “I’m _good_ at this. It’s one of my few talents.”

“You’re incredibly talented,” Sansa protested.

“We should talk about the difference between skills and talents when you’re not naked in front of me,” Jon kissed her chin across to her ear. “Because the whole naked thing is really throwing me off.”

“At least I’ve found a new way to win an argument,” Sansa tilted her head back as his mouth trailed down her neck.

“Postpone. Not win.”

Jon pushed her a little and she fell back into the mattress.

“I think this might be winning,” Sansa sighed as he kissed across her abdomen. He blew a raspberry around her navel and she laughed.

“Wretched woman,” Jon said into her hips. Sansa squirmed as he planted an open-mouthed kiss over her hipbone. She could feel him smile.

“I told you, I had you wrapped around my finger.”

Jon chuckled against her and blew another raspberry. She was still giggling when he finally, really put his mouth to her. She’d forgotten her hands were still in his hair until she tugged at him. He kept chuckling, lifting his head already.

“Should I have warned you?”

“It’s fine,” Sansa said hastily. “Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” he kissed the inside of her thigh lightly before starting again.

Sansa didn’t know what it was that was so great about it, but she knew it was great. The warmth and the wet and the pressure and his humming. She was half worried she’d crush his head between her thighs, but she couldn’t make herself still no matter how she tried.

Before, on the couch, Jon had teased and teased and teased until she couldn’t focus any longer. This was sudden and distracting in a completely different way. It was an entirely different experience, an entirely new experience.

He would not let up. Every time she thought she was going to plateau and get a hold of herself, he did something different. She didn’t even know what sometimes, especially once there were fingers driving in and out of her.

She felt a little bad, between the suffocating and the hair pulling, but it became the only thing tethering her to reality, then even that failed her and she simply stopped existing for a little while. Her back arced off the bed and she floated for a while.

“Sansa,” Jon said quietly, kissing at her thigh for a moment. He pushed it off his shoulder carefully, then did the same with the other. “You all right?”

“That wasn’t awful,” she panted.

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Jon murmured, kissing her navel. He was decidedly smirking. “You’ve got to be getting dehydrated.”

“Yeah, and I’ll call you a smug bastard again when you get back,” she nodded.

“Okay,” Jon said, rising. She looked up at him for a moment before dragging herself upright. He touched her cheek and kissed her forehead. “D’you know your face gets all scrunched right before you cum?”

“Weren’t you leaving?”

“Yeah, but I’m coming right back,” Jon pulled away slightly. He dragged his fingers up her ribcage and along the underside of her breast. “I have unfinished business here.”

“Okay,” Sansa sighed. He chuckled, kissing her forehead again before heading out into the hallway. He shut the door all the way behind him. Sansa fell back into the bed, covering her eyes with an elbow and grinning.

He was back within the minute, sitting beside her and letting her lean on him while she sipped at the water.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to take breaks once . . . Once it all started,” Sansa said quietly.

“You’re supposed to take breaks whenever you need or want one,” Jon kissed her cheek. “That means when you just about choke me to death with your thighs, we take a break.”

“Did I really-“

“I’m joking, love,” Jon kissed her gently. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d actually taken out a good chunk of hair.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said.

“It was a good measure of what was working,” Jon shrugged. Sansa finished off the water, then stood and set it on one of the dressers. He leaned back, bracing himself on one hand. “Anything else I can help check off your list?”

“The first list or the want list?”

“If anything is on your first list that isn’t on your want list, we’ll ignore it,” Jon said. “There’s no reason to do something you don’t want to just for the sake of saying that you have.”

“It’s the squares and rectangles thing,” said Sansa. “Not every want is a first but every first is a want.”

“Nerd,” Jon smiled at her. “So, your first want?”

Sansa bit her lip, thinking it over. She had an unfortunately long list. “Well, I’ve never finished with a man inside me.” Jon’s eyes burned in a delicious mixture of need and anger. “I’ve never ridden a man.”

“We can start there,” Jon said lowly.

“I’ve never let a man bend me over something and take me like that either.”

“Sansa, I thought you wanted to get to bed at some point tonight.”

“Just giving you some ideas,” she said, waltzing over to him and sitting in his lap so she could kiss him. “The first one isn’t always the best.”

“Right, well, given you’re already on top of me,” Jon hummed. “Let’s go somewhere we’re not going to fall to the floor from and work from there.”

“Okay,” Sansa kissed him again. His fingers pressed into her bare ass where she sat against his thighs. She gasped as he pulled her closer. “Jon.”

“We need to move,” he mouthed at her neck for a moment. “Or I’m gonna melt into the floor and we’re going to fall onto our asses and falling while I’m inside you doesn’t sound like much fun for either of us.”

“Oh, we’re being practical, then?”

“Get off for like three seconds,” Jon nipped at her ear. She pouted but pushed back to her feet. Jon stood, too, throwing off his sweats. She grabbed him before he could jump back into the bed, kissing him. His arms curled tight around her. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you take your boxers off, too?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Only if you keep the shirt on.”

“Shouldn’t you be trying to get my clothes off?”

“Stop focusing on the shoulds,” Jon kissed her softly. “Besides, I already got all your clothes off. That’s my clothes, and it’s working for me. Naked also works, if-“

“I’ll keep the shirt on,” Sansa said. “But you have to take the boxers off now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never really had much of a chance to look at . . . You know,” Sansa bit her lip, looking down at Jon as he eyes grew ever darker. “And maybe I’m a little curious.”

“Well, at least you won’t be comparing against anything,” Jon kissed her cheek. His boxers were off in a flash, then he was in the bed, leaning back against the headboard, watching her with his brows raised. A nervous laugh left her as she climbed in after him.

She settled over his lap again and found herself staring.

“You’re frowning,” Jon said.

“I- um-“ Sansa met his eyes, her cheeks burning. “I hate this trope.”

“What?” Jon’s brow furrowed.

“I- the whole leaves a shitty ex and the next man she stumbles upon is well endowed. Like it doesn’t make sense that every good man in the world has a giant dick.”

“You’re rambling again,” Jon laughed.

“I thought you were joking.”

“When?”

“That first day, when you said- you said that you were big.”

“Stop talking about my dick,” Jon chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her.

“Marg has showed me plenty of pictures but-“

“Sans,” Jon cupped her jaw in one hand. “You’re freaking out again.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” he kissed her softly. She let her hands fall to his shoulders. “Stop thinking so much.”

“It’s stupid and I’ve already given you a big head,” Sansa muttered. He hummed, kissing her again. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“You’re on top, Sansa,” Jon tilted his head against hers. “So, we’ll go at your pace. Plus, you’re- uh- you’re pretty well lubricated.”

Sansa laughed against him and found him smiling. “Okay.”

“Do you want to-“

“I really just want the fun part where everything feels good and I don’t want the first bit where it hurts,” Sansa admitted.

“Yeah,” Jon sighed. “So, we’ll go at your pace.”

“My pace,” she echoed. She kissed him softly. “Wait. Condom?”

“I’m clean,” Jon murmured. “And you have the IUD.”

“And I got tested for everything under the sun,” Sansa said. “And I’m good. And I have the IUD.”

“If you’re going to have an anxiety attack about getting pregnant on accident, I have a roll in my suitcase.”

“I- uh-“ Sansa kissed him gently. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Jon smiled. His hand dropped away from her face as he leaned back against the headboard. Sansa went with him, braced against his shoulders. “You sure about this?”

“I want to,” Sansa breathed.

“Okay,” Jon reached up and took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his lips before drawing it to her thigh. She looked down, at her hand and his hand and his cock and the little happy trail and his abs and her thighs. “You’re kinda going to have to aim a little, love.”

“Right,” Sansa’s fingers twitched as he ran a hand up and down her thigh. She dragged her eyes up to his. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly.

She chewed on her lip as she slowly closed her fingers around him. He tensed beneath her, drawing in a sharp breath. She pulled her hand up and down a few times, feeling him harden a little, watching the head of him grow somehow more flushed. He gripped her wrist lightly, and she met his eyes again.

“I need more recovery time than you do,” he said. His cheeks were pink, his eyes dark, hair wild from how often she’d had her hands in it. She gripped his shoulder and raised herself up over him. His eyes darted down to his member in her hand for a moment before returning to hers. “Are you- _Sansa-“_

“Stop asking if I’m okay,” Sansa breathed, sinking down onto him until the stretch started to burn. She paused, and Jon thumped his head back against the wall. “Jon.”

“I can’t believe people ever decide to be celibate,” Jon groaned as she sunk lower. She let out a matching sigh, going further because somehow it didn’t hurt as much as she was expecting it to. She winced and Jon surged upwards to kiss her, his hands slipping under her ass again. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“It’s not bad.”

“I’m not aiming for mediocre,” he growled. Sansa whined as his hands shifted. Sansa wiggled a little further down, a little more. She groaned, letting her head fall back as she fully seated herself in Jon’s lap. She felt _full_ , she felt _good._

“Azor Ahai, Sansa, you have to move at some point,” Jon bit out. Sansa laughed quietly, drawing herself up off him a little bit. She let her forehead drop to his shoulder as she tried to figure out a rhythm. “You’re killing me.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Here,” Jon moved his hands to her hips, helping to guide her as she moved. His nails dug bluntly into her skin as she started to get the hang of it, difficult as it was to focus as she learned what felt okay and what felt good and what felt great. As she built up speed and surety and Jon’s eyes rolled a little bit, hands roving upward until he was cupping her breasts and then-

“Jon,” she sighed as he latched his mouth to one nipple, tugging lightly with his teeth. She arched her back and moaned as he drove up into her from below, her tempo stuttering as one hand dropped to her clit and the other kneaded the tender flesh of her breasts. “ _Gods_ , Jon- Jon, please-“

“Don’t stop,” he ordered, his voice low. Sansa, by some miracle, obeyed, dragging herself up and down over him in a rhythm she was losing control of as he fucked upward into her with her downward strokes. His mouth came upward to her collarbones, her neck, her ear. “Don’t stop.”

“You do it, you do it,” she panted, trying to keep moving as he kept overwhelming her. “I can’t think.”

“You’re closer than you think, love,” Jon rumbled. He shifted a little and she was able to grind her clit against him as she moved the next time. Her mouth fell open, and he attacked her with a fevered kiss, his hands everyone they needed to be exactly when they needed to be until she was bursting, stiff against him and mortifyingly loud even as he chuckled and groaned into her throat.

She didn’t really notice that he had also come. He lifted her up off him and settled her over his chest as he sank into the bed. She rested her cheek against his chest as he started running his fingers through her hair.

“We’ll need to change the sheets,” Sansa mumbled. Jon laughed beneath her, ducking his head to kiss her forehead. “What?”

“You’re . . . I . . . I’ve thought about you a lot, I like to think I know you pretty well, and I guess it’s just funny how much sense it makes that you’d think about the sheets right now,” his dark eyes sparkled brightly.

“Are you calling me predictable?”

“In the best way possible, yes.”

“You know I have to prove you wrong now.”

“Another facet of your predictability,” Jon nodded solemnly. “How do you plan to do so?”

“I want to suck you off until you’re ready to bend me over the dresser.”

Jon cursed. “That seems wildly unpredictable.”

“Thank you,” Sansa grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I've been stagnate on this fic for like a hot minute cos I knew I wanted some drama but I couldn't decide what level of drama and whooooo boy I figured it out and I'm LIVING  
> Also, you know, the country done been falling apart around us and all that. Largest Civil Rights movement in the history of the world say what??


	30. Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa go to the Targaryen family mansion to prepare for the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up late with an iced coffee*  
> Listen, it's not like I'm paid.

“I thought you were planning to go to the gardens this morning.”

Jon and Sansa shared a look as the elevator descended. Barristan had them trapped, at least for a little bit. But the elevator stopped at the next floor down, and Barristan put his foot in the way of the doors closing.

“We waiting on someone?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” Barristan said. “What made the two of you decide to stay in?”

“Jon didn’t like the idea of being followed around by a guard,” Sansa said. Jon watched the way she swallowed, eyes darting to him nervously. She was really a terrible liar, even when the statement was perfectly true.

At least there was no real physical evidence to the contrary. Well, the security feeds had probably picked up some incriminating audio, but Jon doubted anyone ever checked that. And the sheets needed to be changed.

The glint in Barristan’s eyes said he knew damn well why they’d stayed in, especially given Jon’s panicked phone call to the man the night before. Jon crossed his arms over his chest and dared the older man to call Sansa a liar. He looked supremely amused, but he said nothing regardless. He likely knew the glint in his eye was more than enough for Jon to know that he knew. The older man was too polite to say anything outright, especially in front of Sansa.

“Who are we waiting for?” Sansa cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of herself, the very picture of polite propriety. Jon couldn’t help but smirk when he finally caught her eye. She reached out to swat his arm swiftly. “Stop that.”

The door to the guards’ apartment finally opened, but Jon paid it little heed. Sansa was flushing like she, too, recalled how very impolite and improper she’d been even just twenty minutes ago. Rhaenys was right about the shower.

“Oh, you poor girl.”

Jon’s gaze shot away from her, taking in the Dornish man before him. He was grinning ear to ear, dark hair flecked with silver, pale eyes bright and warm. He was probably the best damn thing Jon had seen since coming to King’s Landing (excluding Sansa, of course).

“Arthur,” Jon nearly squealed it, stepping forward to embrace the man as he entered the elevator. He chuckled, gripping Jon’s shoulders to look at him.

“Gods, your hair is mad,” he laughed. Jon shoved out of his grip, grinning.

“You’re looking old,” Jon said easily. “You sure you‘ll be able to keep up?”

“With the likes of you?” He scoffed, hitting Jon’s arm. “You’ve been hiding up north just to get away from the embarrassment of our last match.”

“As I recall, you limped for three days and complained about bruised ribs for a week and a half,” Jon countered. Arthur’s grin spanned impossibly wider.

“Aye, but it took you a good while to get me, didn’t it?”

“You’re in shit luck today—I’ve been practicing. I don’t have school to distract me so much,” Jon said.

If history truly did prove cyclical, Jon and Arthur would have a bit of a sparring match while Rhaenys stole Sansa to get ready for everything and Eggy jeered from the sidelines. He was looking forward to it, if only because it would distract him from thinking about the dress that had been collected from the airport. Evidently, Rhaenys had ‘modified’ it slightly, though Jon had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Sansa seemed excited about it, which was reason enough to believe he’d be sporting a semi for most the gala.

“You have another distraction these days, or so I hear,” Arthur turned his smile on Sansa, offering a hand. “Arthur Dayne, at your service.”

“Sansa Stark,” she said brightly.

“I know,” he winked. Jon struggled against the urge to clench his fists or his jaw. Arthur didn’t mean anything by it. “How’s your father?”

That was hardly any better. Jon shifted closer to Sansa as she stiffened. “Oh. He’s fine.”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I don’t like him much either.”

“Ned Stark is a good man, a just man,” said Barristan sternly.

“Yes,” Arthur turned to him. “But he has his moments of honorable stupidity and social ineptitude and I think I’m allowed to be annoyed by that.”

“Arthur,” Jon sighed, reaching for Sansa’s hand. She took his, moving closer still. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

They piled out of the elevator, into the back of an SUV. Jon let his arm drape casually over the Sansa’s shoulders as they drove out of town. She was quiet while he and Arthur swapped stories. She just stared out the window and said nothing, even when she had the perfect opportunity to get snarky about Robb.

By the time they got to the mansion, Jon was fully worried. He helped her out of the car as soon as they’d parked in the garage and the door had closed all the way. He tugged her aside while the others went into the house.

“What is it?” Jon asked lowly.

“Do they all know we had sex last night?”

“If they don’t, they’re assuming it,” Jon answered honestly. She nodded, worrying her lip. “Why?”

“Because they all seem to know my dad and I’ve never heard of any of these people before and it’s kinda weird,” Sansa said softly. “Like what if their holiday card is just _glad to see your daughter’s getting treated right by our Jon, he’s really giving it to her good lately.”_

“Sansa, no human being in the universe would consider sending something like that to any other person as a holiday card,” he said flatly. She pouted. “Secondly, they’re security guards. Security guards don’t get trusted if they blab to the in-laws on all the dirty little secrets. These guys have been around long enough that dirty laundry to them is as mundane as the carpet. You can trust them.”

“In this city,” Sansa said slowly. “I only really trust you.”

Jon took her hand and kissed it gently. “I know. But I promise, you don’t need to worry about your parents until tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sansa nodded. Slowly, she smiled. “Are we still planning on breaking up tomorrow?”

“Nope,” Jon said immediately. She laughed, and he shook his head. “No, I hated that plan from the beginning, you came up with it while literally fevered, we’re not sticking to it, I’ve actually got no breakup scheduled for the near to foreseeable future so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I think it’d be a good way to prove a point to Mum and Robb—stage a breakup, let Robb see what a prick he’s been,” Sansa mused.

“That’s still my best mate you’re talking about there, love,” Jon reminded her. She raised one eyebrow at him. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“Jon, you get lost stepping out of the car?” Arthur called from the door into the house.

“We’re trying to have a conversation!”

“Have it inside the house. There’s food!”

Rolling his eyes, Jon guided Sansa into the mansion. He’d spent more time there than in the penthouse. It had a familiar scent to it, like clover or cinnamon—something spice related. The mansion was just that—a mansion. Huge and nice and occasionally redundant but ever so efficient. It had something for everyone, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.

Sansa’s mouth hung open as they passed through one room to the next. The family lunch was really just Rhaenys, Eggy, and his dad leaning around the kitchen munching on snack foods and a store-bought cheese board. The guards lingered, even though technically the mansion was secure, joining in on the conversation and jesting and grape throwing.

Rhaenys and Sansa went to go put the finishing touches on her dress while Jon paired up with Eggy to see how many grapes they could catch in their mouths from across the kitchen, their dad and Arthur as opponents.

“Twelve!” Eggy cried. He made a face. “That one was bad, pick better grapes, Jon!”

“I’m trying!” He answered, scrambling to grab more from the vine while Arthur attempted to elbow him into submission. “I’m being bullied!”

“Arthur! You’ll scare him back north!” Eggy shouted.

“Spiteful old man,” Jon dug his elbow into Arthur’s side, shunting him at least a foot from the grapes. He grabbed several and tossed them skyward in rapid but evenly paced succession. Eggy dove across the kitchen to get them all while Rhaegar roared with laughter.

Jon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he groaned loud enough that Arthur refrained from tossing him through the wall into the next room. He dug it out and found Robb’s face (and four double chins). He’d forgotten about that photo, though to be fair, he’d also forgotten the vast majority of the night it’d been taken. He was pretty sure Sansa had demanded he make it Robb’s contact photo.

“I have to take this,” Jon muttered, ducking out of the kitchen into the sitting room. He wandered toward the wall of bookshelves, turning away from the window as he answered. “Hey. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, you got a minute?” Robb asked.

“Sure.”

“I’m not going to lie, it’s a little weird being home without you,” Robb said. Jon swallowed. “Who am I kidding. It’s really weird. It’s _really_ weird. Mom and Dad keep asking about you and Sansa, and I am not prepared to answer these questions, I’m not even prepared to _be asked_ these questions.”

“Hang in there, we’ll be home tomorrow by dinner.”

“Quit laughing at me,” Robb groaned. “I haven’t had a holiday alone here since- ever. I’m the oldest by way too big of a margin.”

“You mean your mum is asking you to do the housework that Sansa normally did without ever being asked. And that I do because it helps your mum not judge me as much.”

Robb was quiet a moment. “Shit. I hadn’t thought of it like that. . . . No wonder she’s always so annoyed with me.”

Jon sighed. “Yeah.”

“Is your family treating you all right?” Robb asked.

“Yeah, they are,” Jon said.

“Are you saying that because they’re too close to you for you to say otherwise?”

“I mean basically, that’s about it.”

“Ask about Arya if I’m going to need to beat someone’s face in, ask about Marg if you’re still sorting it all out.”

“Anyway, how’s Marg? Is she going to end up making it to dinner tomorrow or is Sansa the only one with an S.O. this year?” Jon asked. It helped that he genuinely didn’t know.

“Marg is going to High Garden,” Robb said tightly. Jon’s brain clicked into place—Sansa had already mentioned something to that effect. Robb hesitated a moment longer. “Do- Do you think we’re a serious thing?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Jon frowned. “Uhm. Why?”

“She said she didn’t want to tell Sansa because she didn’t want to worry her about something that wasn’t serious but then she did tell her and does that mean she thinks it’s serious or that she’s a bad liar?”

Jon paused, “Uh, can you run that by me again.”

“Not serious, don’t tell anyone. But then, she told without telling _me_ if she thinks it’s serious but then she already had plane tickets for High Garden,” Robb said. Jon took a deep breath. “That’s a bad pause, isn’t it?”

“Well . . . How long have we known Margaery?”

“. . . Years.”

“And how many times has she been with anyone longer than six weeks?”

“I mean,” Robb sighed. “Never. And the guys are somehow less permanent than the girls.”

They were quiet for a moment. “That’s just how she is. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I know,” Robb said. “Honestly, that’s why I . . . I knew it wasn’t going anywhere.”

Jon groaned. “You’re worried you hurt her feelings?”

“I mean, I’m not a complete asshole,” Robb said. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew it wasn’t going to be long term. She doesn’t go for that.”

“Jon, you all right?” Eggy stuck his head out of the kitchen.

“I’m talking to Robb, I’ll be just a sec,” Jon said quickly.

Eggy nodded, a faltering smile fracturing his face. “Oh. Oh, okay. Sure.”

“What’s that?”

“My brother,” Jon said carefully, turning away from Eggy before he could see Jon frown. He seemed bothered or worried. Gods, there was never a dull moment anymore. Was it odd that he missed being bored? Jon cleared his throat a little. “Listen, you might just have to ask her, you know?”

“What if by asking she thinks I want things to be serious?” Robb asked.

“Just tell her you want to be on the same page. Tell her the truth,” Jon suggested.

“The truth’s not going to cut it this time.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cos this time I met a cute nurse a week or so ago.”

Jon winced, “That’s why you were a hot mess?”

“Probably had something to do with it,” Robb muttered. “I mean, nothing’s _happened,_ but . . . You know, I like her.”

“Don’t tell me anything else right now. You gotta figure your shit out or Sansa’s going to punish me for knowing and not telling her,” Jon warned.

“All right, all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Jon turned to go back to the kitchen only to find Eggy still there, standing with his arms crossed beside a ginormous chair. Jon jumped a little, putting his phone away. Eggy drummed his fingers along his arm. Something was definitely wrong. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Why couldn’t Jon just stop being so tired for three minutes? Why did everything have to seem like too much?

_Sansa isn’t too much._ He felt that in his bones. There was something about her, about how long he’d known her, how long he’d wanted her, that preserved her as novel. That was backwards, but his mind settled on it like a pit bull on a couch.

“Okay,” Jon said carefully, venturing closer to his brother. As tired as he was, he could still be observant. Eggy looked frazzled, curly hair just about on end. “What about?”

“I heard that Dad’s going to offer you law school,” Eggy said, staring vacantly at Jon’s shoes. “And that was the only thing that could convince you to come.”

“It’s the Feast of the _Mother_ , Eggy,” Jon said softly. Had he forgotten to tell Eggy how much he actually liked him—not just liked him compared to the rest of their eight ball relatives? How much Jon stayed away because he knew he could only ruin and complicate things? Jon sighed. “Egg, your mother isn’t participating in anything because I’m here. I’m going to be late visiting . . . Visiting my mother’s grave because I’m here. And Sansa and I had plans.”

“But you came when Dany dangled law school in front of you,” said Eggy. Jon clenched his jaw.

“I’m not trying to steal your money, your inheritance-“

“I can’t give you law school,” Eggy laughed humorlessly.

“What? Eggy, I _know_ that,” Jon frowned. Eggy just shook his head. Oh, something had to be very wrong. He’d never seen his brother like this. Not once. “Eggy, what are you talking about?”

“This is not going . . . We can just talk about it later-“

“Eggy, we can talk about it now,” Jon said. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t give you anything you want; I’ve never been able to and even less now—and I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Jon dared to come a little closer. There was definitely something wrong. Eggy’s hands shook where his fingers drummed along his arms. And he wouldn’t lift his eyes from the floor, his jaw clenched. He looked like he was hardly breathing. “Aegon, are you okay?”

“You should be sucking up to Dad. You should be talking about your work and how worthy you are of law school and how much better and more accomplished-“ His voice broke. “Never mind, this was stupid-“

“Wait,” Jon rushed forward before Eggy could run. Even though he knew Eggy was older, for some reason he always seemed younger. Maybe because he’d been raised as a youngest, and Jon had been raised as an odd combination of only child and oldest, thanks to the Starks. Jon gripped his shoulder, waiting fruitlessly for his brother’s eyes to leave the floor. “What happened? You were upset about Sansa, before, that I hadn’t told you- I didn’t mean to-“

“Rhae had Mum and Dad’s prenup,” Aegon’s voice cracked again. Jon flinched but kept his hand on his shoulder. Their divorce was patently Jon’s fault, and he didn’t anyone to confirm it. The prenup, however, was a much murkier document. “They were legally obligated to have more than one kid. Until there was a boy. Aerys made them. And there’s a condition that- that if . . .”

“Eggy?”

“I’m gay,” he said. Jon blinked, trying to restart his brain. _Gay_. That meant happy. Used to. Hopefully still did. _Gay._ Rhaenys said she was gay all the time, even though Eggy always said that she was straight, too. “And Rhaenys doesn’t want kids. All the money—it’s going to you.”

His lady friends who were all no shows. Who didn’t even exist. Lopsided numbers of NDAs. How upset he was that Jon had broken from his semi-perpetual singleness. If anyone came at Eggy for being single—if their _father_ tried to bother him about it—he could just say “Jon’s single, too,” and because Jon was only two years younger, it still counted. No one could fault Eggy if Jon was in the same boat.

He should’ve fucking known. He knew Eggy too well for this to be a surprise. Azor Ahai, this was the family he _liked_.

Maybe the shitty Targaryen genes had affected Jon more than he thought.

“Eggy, why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asked quietly, surprised at the tears in his eyes. He blinked rapidly as his brother’s eyes darted away from him again. “Eggy-“

“Because you only ever come for the money and I like having a brother and I know I’m not Robb but-“

“No, you idiot, I don’t care about the stupid fucking money,” Jon dragged him into an embrace. “The other thing. The who you love thing.”

_Gay._

“How can you not care about the money?” Eggy’s arms came around him, brutally tight.

“Be- Eggy. Because _you’re my brother,”_ Jon said softly. “You’re my brother and I love you, and I should’ve made it easier for you to trust me with this.”

“You and Arthur. You’re the only ones who know.”

“Rhaenys is going to kill us.”

“I know.”

“She’s going to be ecstatic and try to dye your hair the colors of the rainbow, but she’ll kill us.”

“Yup.”

Jon pulled away but kept one arm draped over Eggy’s shoulder. Eggy wiped at his face discreetly, sniffling. Jon wasn’t much better. He should’ve known, should’ve let Eggy know it was safe to tell him. He just- He should just have _known_.

Jon’s brain tripped, stubbed its toe, tumbled through a cascade of pots and pan, and broke its neck falling down four consecutive flights of stairs.

“ _Wait_.”

“There it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel like there's not much Sansa is this one, but it is what it is, I guess


	31. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Rhae's plot comes to fruition; Jon needs to restart his brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who, me? Updating kinda on time? Whaaaa

“I can’t believe it,” Sansa just about squealed, turning and watching the skirts swish around her feet. She beamed at Rhaenys. “You are an angel. Like an actual whole angel.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Rhaenys grinned, clapping her hands together. “Jon’s little brain will explode.”

“Gods, I can’t believe we managed to pull this off,” Sansa turned in the mirror.

“You girls are geniuses,” agreed the Dornish make-up artist. She pecked at both of Rhaenys’s cheeks then gave them both a vicious glare down. “No crying. No sweating. You still need to be perfect fifteen minutes from now when you hit the carpet.”

“Go get in your car,” Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you in twelve minutes for touch-ups.”

“You better,” the make-up artist warned. She and a swarm of hair stylists swept from the room. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was an actual bedroom, a guest room, or a preparation room. There was a bed and everything that made a small apartment livable. Even a forbidden mini-fridge. Sansa wasn’t sure what exactly about it made it forbidden, but Rhaenys was very insistent that she should use the _other_ mini-fridge, which was full of glass bottles of water and juice.

Sansa looked back at the full-body mirror, almost unable to fully comprehend that it was her staring back.

The dress was a Rhaenys Targaryen original. All of the dresses she had tried on were—she’d gone to the boutique in Winterfell because Rhaenys had deliberately sold the ones she thought Sansa would like to the store. Sansa had reliably taken her own measurements over a video chat with Rhaenys so she could be ready to tailor it. Sansa herself had managed to do a little bit of embroidery for the project.

Her hair had been curled and braided and teased and twisted and everything in between. Half her hair fell down her back, but the top half had been structured into a braided bun sort of situation that was almost crown-like. Her make-up mirrored Rhaenys’s in style but not color. Sansa knew her bone structure was still there, but it felt like everything popped more. She didn’t quite understand it.

“I look . . . Different and not,” Sansa said carefully. “How did she do that?”

“You look gorgeous,” Rhaenys said. “And I fully mean that. They do this for a living and trust me, it never gets any less weird to see yourself all dolled up.”

“You look pretty damn good yourself,” Sansa turned. Rhaenys’s dress had been hand stitched for her by one of the premier designers of the year. She was too high profile to dress herself for this gala. Smaller ones, maybe, but not this one.

“Don’t be nervous,” Rhaenys commanded sharply, holding out her arm to Sansa. She took it. “First off, it’s time to go and we don’t have time for nervous. Secondly, you’re going to be in the background all night. You don’t have to step out of the shadows even once. You can be a wallflower. An introvert.”

“I get the picture,” Sansa laughed. “I’m more worried about Jon.”

“Honestly, it’ll be a miracle if we make it to the cars before he hauls you off to a closet somewhere,” Rhaenys grinned, tugging Sansa through the labyrinthian second floor toward the stairs.

“It is of a similar sentiment to Feel Me Up in the Closet,” Sansa agreed. Rhaenys cackled, a sound that seemed to echo through the house. They dropped down the steps together.

“Is the Wicked Witch of the West finally ready?”

“You’re lame, Dad,” Rhaenys said easily. Sansa followed her down the stairs, eyes drawn to the sitting room as Jon and Aegon emerged.

Jon looked good. His hair looked perfectly tussled, out of place in the best way. The suit fit him perfectly, a stark black and grey next to Aegon’s velvet red. They’d done fancy knots with their ties.

His eyes met hers, and she felt like she’d been set on fire. In a good way, oddly enough. Not a ‘burn the witches’ way.

“Holy shit.”

“Do you like it?” Sansa stopped at the bottom of the steps as Jon came forward. He held out a hand and she took it, laughing as he tugged her into a little spin.

“This isn’t one of the ones you showed me.”

“It’s a little remix,” said Rhaenys. “We call it ‘Can He Make it an Hour?’”

Aegon laughed while Sansa swished her skirts a little bit, grinning at Jon. It was her favorite of the dresses Rhaenys had sent for her. That same dove grey as the one with the too-deep V neckline, Bend Me Over and Take Me Now, though by her waist it was jet black, just the same as Jon’s suit. It had the same open back as Feel Me Up in the Closet, almost too low but not quite. The halter-neck had what Rhaenys called a ‘boob window,’ a diamond patch that revealed a tasteful but daring amount of cleavage. Sansa felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable, but somehow in a good way.

“You look- You’re so- holy shit, Sansa,” Jon whispered. He stepped closer and kissed her gently.

“I’m going to guess he’s not going to last an hour,” said Aegon.

“Hey, it’s not _my_ fault you can’t find a girl willing to put up with all this,” Jon stepped away, throwing an arm around Aegon’s shoulders. Rhaenys took Sansa’s hand and tugged.

“We’ll be late,” she said. “You’re in my car.”

“We’re splitting up?” Sansa glanced back at Jon.

“For the moment,” said Rhaegar. “We always let Rhaenys go out on her own first, Aegon follows.”

“Yeah, because he won’t switch with me,” Rhaenys sent him a dirty look. She squeezed Sansa’s hand. “Stick close. We’ll be all right.”

They went out the front door, Rhaegar holding it open for them all. They had one of those fancy rich people driveways that ended in a circle with a small garden in the middle. Two black SUVs with tinted out windows waited. Rhaenys pulled Sansa toward the one in front.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jon caught up with them hastily, grabbing Sansa’s wrist gently. He just looked a her for a lingering moment.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly. Barristan helped Rhaenys into the car behind them. The furrow of Jon’s brow was back, a little worried wrinkle between his eyebrows. She touched his jaw gently, letting her fingers scratch into his beard. “Jon?”

“You- You know we- you don’t have to do this just for me,” he whispered.

“I know,” Sansa nodded. “But the time to double check was _before_ Rhaenys sewed me into the dress, Jon.” He laughed, a little nervous huff that did little to settle her stomach. “I’ll be fine, Jon. I’ll just follow Rhaenys, try to keep her skirts from getting too dirty, make sure she’s hydrated. You worry about Aegon.”

“I just- I have a bad feeling about it,” Jon said tightly.

“Jon, do you want to go?”

“I want to be there for Eggy,” he murmured. “But galas—they’re not exactly my scene, Sans.”

“Your _scene_ is what? Take-out and work even while you’re home?” Sansa looped her arms around his neck. “It’s a big party Jon. I won’t make you talk to strangers, and I won’t abandon you. You have a social anchor.”

“Social anchor,” he rolled his eyes, pecking her cheek lightly. “An anchor that looks like a bloody siren.”

“Thank you,” she kissed the tip of his nose. “Now, go get in your car.”

“Only if we get to sneak off and have sex somewhere we’re _definitely_ not supposed to.”

“Get in your car,” Sansa laughed, kissing his cheek and pulling away. He grinned as he walked back to Eggy and their SUV, their father leaning into the passenger window to give them some sort of talking to. Sansa clambered up into the car next to Rhaenys, her cheeks burning.

“Not that I _want_ to think about my little brother in bed,” Rhaenys mumbled. “But your face seems to imply he doesn’t need a lecture about making sure your needs are met.”

“What?”

“You look like _you’re_ ready to jump _him_ , darling.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Sansa shook herself slightly. “I see him in suits all the time.”

“Not all of his suits are tailored, are they?”

“No, only one or two,” Sansa hummed, turning in her seat to look out the back toward their car. She couldn’t see him through all the window tint. It was a damn shame. “Does it make that much difference?”

“In my experience, as a tailor? One hundred percent,” Rhaenys said emphatically. “Why do you think he’s giving you moony eyes when he’s seen you naked?”

“I- We- um,” Sansa bit her tongue, twisting back in her seat. He _had_ seen her naked. More than once. They’d had _good sex_ the night before, the sort Sansa could still feel when she moved the wrong way.

“You’re adorably pure,” Rhaenys laughed. The passenger window in their car rolled down, and Rhaegar leaned in to look at them. “What, Dad?”

“Remember—no drinks from anyone but event staff, you mind your manners even when other people don’t, and you keep your sex life out of the conversation. If you need to get out of a conversation, you find each other and say you need the wash closet. Wash closet, not bathroom, that lets security know you’re being bothered. If you actually need the restroom, you don’t use the term wash closet. Nobody goes off on their own. Buddy system is in full effect. The event security knows that Viserys may be an issue, but there are too many variables for you guys to do stupid shit and get away scot-free. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dad, you scared her!”

“Ms. Stark, I hope you enjoy your night. We aim to keep you and Jon safe.”

“Dad, go get ready if you want to micromanage the night,” Rhaenys said sharply. “You’re being annoying.”

“I’ll be there sooner than you’d think, Rhae. Barristan, Dorian, take good care of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The window rolled up, and the car moved forward, around the driveway’s end back toward the road.

“You’re not regretting coming, are you?” Rhaenys asked quietly.

“What?” Sansa frowned. “No. No, of course, not. If your uncle is going to try to harm me, there’s no better place for it than when I’m surrounded by armed private security who are actively looking for him.”

“I mean- the press. They’ll pick you out, and if they don’t, rabid internet people will,” Rhaenys shuddered. She reached for Sansa’s hand again. “And I- I didn’t really realize- if you’re wearing something I made, they might make you show it off. Not that you can’t if you don’t want to, but- you’re not a model. Not that you’re not pretty, you are—you’re, like, _way_ out of Jon’s league-“

“Rhaenys. I’ll be fine.”

Rhaenys fiddled with her dress, a deep red and black that matched Aegon. Sansa thought it was a little fluffy for her, but Rhaenys wore it well. And Sansa had seen her dresses from the last five years—usually it was the slinky sort of dress Sansa thought Rhaenys was better suited to. She was exploring this year, trying a skirt almost too big for the car instead of one clinging to her.

“I just feel like we’re throwing you to the wolves.”

“I have four siblings. I’m used to adapting quickly.”

“Right,” Rhaenys nodded.

“I’ve seen some of the interviews you’ve given,” Sansa said. “You always look really nice, and you always sound smarter than you look pretty.”

“Considering how hot I am, that practically makes me a genius.”

“Coming up on the museum now,” Barristan called back.

“Barristan will get the door, then you just need to fix my skirts and hide behind them,” Rhaenys said as the car came to a stop.

“I know, you said this all before,” Sansa said.

“Thought you could use the reminder,” she fidgeted.

“It’s not exactly helpful that you’re as nervous as I am,” Sansa said. Barristan climbed out of the front, the door shutting loudly behind him.

“You’re not the one who’ll be on camera,” Rhaenys smiled wryly. Her door opened. Barristan helped her down, then Sansa. Sansa fixed the little bit of train that the big poofy skirts had, making sure everything was in line.

The boys came out, Aegon taking Rhaenys’s arm. For some reason, the red carpet was set up in an odd sort of trench, where they had to descend a flight of stairs and walk the gauntlet before ascending another flight into the museum. Sansa had never seen so many cameras in her life. Huge ones, too. And reporters. The make-up artists appeared from another car, smacking powder and sprays on top of everything else. Sansa stood still and did as she was told until they stepped back.

“You’re lucky you have an easy face,” the make-up artist tutted at Sansa, smiling. “Have fun. Rhaenys always treats this like going to war, but you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks,” Sansa smiled, glancing back at Jon. He nodded, his eyes never leaving her but never settling either. The make-up artists moved back toward the line of cars.

“You all right?” Aegon asked.

“Yeah,” Sansa said weakly. Jon came closer, until she could feel the warmth of him on her back. He and Aegon watched each other for a moment before looking to Rhaenys.

“And now,” Rhaenys said. “We descend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Are. Not. Ready.  
> Predictions if you've got 'em  
> Otherwise, carry on
> 
> By the way, how do we feel about Catelyn? We're going to be seeing her medium soon, and I know a lot of people love her and a lot of people hate her. Personally, I respect her doing the most to protect her kids, though I know she can and will go too far, I'm just debating how that extends to Jon in this situation. I've things both ways, I just don't know how I feel about it.


	32. Art Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa endure the red carpet.

Sansa and Jon hung back as Rhae and Eggy did their third interview. His hand settled on the small of her back almost by instinct, leaning into her to speak lowly amid all the screaming, “You really had to have a whole conspiracy with the dress?”

“Well, we agreed it should be a surprise,” Sansa murmured, hardly moving her mouth. Jon smiled a little. He curled his fingers across her bare back gently, watching her jolt out of the corner of his eye. “St- Stop that.”

“Oh, so it’s funny when I want to drag you into a dark, secluded corner, but you’re not allowed to want me?”

“I _do_ want you, Jon,” she said, and he let his hand fall away from her. She swayed closer, muttering under her breath, “But we’re in _public.”_

“I know,” Jon said. “There has to be somewhere that’s out of the way though.”

“Jon.”

“It’s not public if there’s no one around.”

“Jon. If this is your answer to stress, I’m not sure I’ll survive law school.”

“How do you mean?”

“I- I mean-“

“I actually did design the dress, yes,” Rhae said. Jon’s focus faltered as Sansa’s thought trailed to nothing, her face pink despite the artful makeup. Jon’s chest constricted at just how much attention the reporter had fixed on them.

“I’m so sorry, could your assistant just—just real quick—I think everyone would love to see your work, especially on a model like that.”

Jon fought his hands, tucking them into his pockets before he could grab her and pull her away. This wasn’t some drunken bastard saying things he shouldn’t, touching things he shouldn’t. It was a reporter. They were in public. She could handle it on her own.

She glanced at him, her eyes a little too wide. She didn’t want to. Jon found Rhaenys’s eyes. _No. Absolutely not._

“Oh, Stephen, you know how much I hate to share the spotlight,” Rhae laughed. Eggy threw his arm around her shoulder, effectively blocking Jon and Sansa from sight. “Besides, she’s just an assistant; I’ll be working with _real_ models soon enough, you just need to be patient.”

“Father tells us it’s a virtue,” Eggy chuckled warmly.

“Come now, Aegon, let us show off your girlfriend.”

“Wait, someone agreed to stay with me for more than a night?” Eggy scoured the red carpet. Jon clenched his fists in his pocket as Sansa slipped her arm around his. _Secret girlfriend._ No wonder Eggy didn’t want anyone to know, these bastards would hound him about it for the rest of his life. “You really do have news before anyone else.”

“You’re not going to make me say ‘please,’ are you, Rhaenys, darling?”

“Seems your too daft to understand a soft no, Steve, so how about a hard one: you will _not_ drag my assistant into this. Unless you’d like _your_ assistant to do your job for the rest of the night, _Stephen_.” Rhae pulled Eggy away.

“But-“

“And don’t call me _darling.”_

“I really like her, Jon,” Sansa murmured.

“We’ll have to visit again sometime else,” Jon answered. Rhae and Eggy marched toward them. The person in front of them (a music person Jon vaguely recognized) wasn’t finished with their interview yet. One of the crew came, giving them a spot just out of frame to wait. Sansa pulled away from Jon to help Rhae with her hair and dress.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me unless I punch him,” Rhae grumbled.

“I think the verbal abuse was more than enough, Rhae,” Eggy said. He sidled up next to Jon.

“You all right?” Jon asked lowly. Eggy nodded. “You sure?”

“No, but with all the world watching, what am I supposed to do, brother mine?”

“Knock off a bit of the dramatics,” Jon chuckled. “You sound like an old-timey movie star with a made up accent.”

“Oh, this is frightfully overwhelming, I fear I might faint,” Eggy said in a falsetto, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Jon laughed, elbowing him in the side. Eggy shoved him.

They kept jostling until Arthur cleared his throat behind them. Jon peeked behind them to see the stern look he’d crafted. Jon offered a weak, innocent smile and a shrug. He cleared his throat, and he and Eggy set about straightening each other’s ties.

He caught Sansa staring as she talked quietly to Rhae. Her crystal blue eyes drifted up and down his body in two quick flicks, then she met his eyes, bit her own lip, and turned away, leaning into Rhae. Jon bit his tongue. She couldn’t just do that. He’d throw her over his shoulder and claim it was a security concern. Take her back to the penthouse, tell them to turn off the cameras.

“Earth to Jon; everyone can see you eye-fucking her,” Eggy said, throwing his hand over his mouth to make it sound like he was talking into the radio.

“You’re quite the impressionist tonight, Eggy,” Jon said.

“I’d do you, but every ten-year-old can do a monkey impression, so it’d be subpar at best.”

“Oh, funny, very funny.”

“She’s watching you again.”

“I’m not going to look this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because she has a thing about being in public and I’ve pushed enough as it is,” Jon muttered.

“But she’s- she’s literally encouraging you. She’s eye-fucking you back—it’s consensual, well, _mutual_ , at least, eye-fucking.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what.”

“ _That.”_

“I haven’t used the word ‘that’ since the last interview, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Stop being a dick.”

“Stop telling me to stop do shit.”

“Boys,” Arthur said lowly, dropping a hand to each of their shoulders and glaring at them in turn. Jon met Eggy’s eyes for a long moment, swallowed, and met Arthur’s disapproving stare. “You’re behaving like children. I recommend you correct your behavior before some industrious camera operator decides to immortalize the moment.”

“Arthur, he’s a college dropout, you can’t talk to him that way; it’s all gone over his head.”

“Honestly, I didn’t understand a word of it. I’m not but a humble idiot, making his way through life. People say things and it all gets jumbled in my head.”

“At least the Stark girl knows how to behave herself.”

“She knows _when_ to behave herself,” Jon corrected immediately. Arthur switched from glaring at Eggy to glaring at him. He winced, replaying the words in his head. She wouldn’t like that he’d said that. Even to Arthur and Eggy, she wouldn’t like it.

“Do better,” Arthur said sternly, fading back into the shadows behind them. Jon pushed at his hair carefully, mindful of the product that made it slightly more styled but no less insane. He just shouldn’t have said that.

“For the record, I like Sansa,” Eggy mumbled. “Although she scares the shit out of me.”

“You’re _scared_ of her?”

“Jon, there is no part of me that believes she’d get on with Rhae as well as she does if I didn’t need to be at least _slightly_ scared of her.”

Jon scratched at his chin for a moment. “You know, you’re probably right.”

“Anyhow, back to the eye-fucking?”

“She’s being . . . like that ‘cause I wrecked her higher functioning last night, and she wants to distract me,” Jon guessed, tucking his hands in his pockets again. He shouldn’t touch her again if he could avoid it. It’d make it better later. Unless she asked, of course, or she wanted to hold his hand. But he’d keep his hands where anyone else’s should be—off her bare skin. Just as a manner of politeness. And because he should have a little self-control. _And_ because he wanted to listen to her say please. She was very good at saying please.

“Wrecked her higher functioning?”

The look on her face, in her eyes, when he’d eaten her out was locked in his memory. He half wished he was some kind of artist, that he could preserve the perfect image in his mind in some other way. But then someone else might get to have that image, and it was one Jon was completely unwilling to share. _Sansa Satisfied._ The best image to reside in his mind. He also liked the way she’d fallen asleep on his chest, murmuring lewd things even as her body gave out on her. He’d stared at her for far too long before sleep had claimed him, too.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I kinda do, actually.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t do that; it only makes me want to know more.”

“Eggy, Sansa didn’t want the guards _thinking_ that we _might’ve_ had sex, I don’t think she’d be comfortable with my sharing details.”

“Of course, it was a sex thing,” Eggy laughed slowly. A tech from the next interview came over to talk to Rhae. Eggy draped an arm over his shoulder. “She’s still watching you.”

Jon met her eyes. Something about her made his chest pound. She was really, truly beautiful. And her back, her bare back, he just wanted to be leaned over her and inside of her and listening to her. He wanted to trace a finger along the curve of her spine and her shoulders and listen to her talk about her day, about how she and Rhae got on, about . . . anything. Seven hells, he’d listen to her explain the math thing with the evidence. Proofs. He was pretty sure it was proofs.

She smiled.

Eggy elbowed him some time later. “What?”

“You’re, like, completely zoned, man.”

“What?” Eggy waved his hand in front of Jon’s face. Jon batted his hand away. “ _What?”_

“She’s a witch or something,” Eggy muttered. “No wonder Rhae’s trying to collect her.”

“She’s not a _witch_ ,” Jon scowled, shaking his head. His eyes met hers again regardless. She gave him a Look he didn’t know how to interpret, helping Rhae with her dress again as the next interviewer waved her forward. “You’re on.”

“Ah, shit, great,” Eggy abandoned him, joining Rhae for the next interview. Jon let himself approach Sansa again, though he kept his hands well to himself.

“Everything okay?” Sansa asked softly. Jon nodded absently, watching Eggy. He never really smiled in interviews. He pretended to, but they were all fake. “Jon, can you think about that question before you answer it?”

“What question?”

“Is everything okay?”

Jon glanced at her, swallowing. “Um. Not really.”

“Can you tell me?” she asked softly. Jon kept his hands to himself. There were too many other eyes on them. Strangers. Trying to figure out just how important they were. “Jon?”

“Not- Not right now. Later,” he said.

“I should’ve let you sleep. You’re always so tired now.”

“I’ll catch up on sleep while we’re at your parents’ house,” Jon shrugged. Sansa scoffed quietly. “You don’t think your mother is going to let me anywhere near you, do you?”

“If my mother so much as _implies_ that you would take liberties, we’re just going to commute the damn hour every day until the holiday is over,” Sansa said sharply.

“I- You never told me why you never visited when you came back to Winterfell.”

“No, I didn’t,” she hummed. Jon nodded, taking that as answer enough. He could ask later. “Do you ever . . . Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I don’t know either.”

“Jon,” she sighed. He wanted to comfort her—take her hand, kiss her hair, wrap her in his arms and hold her. He couldn’t do any of it. He hated that he couldn’t do any of it.

“Next time we come, less familial obligations, more actual vacation,” he said. She shook her head, though he caught her smile.

“Okay,” Sansa said, touching his side gently. Her voice dropped lower. “I wish we were alone.”

“Don’t do this to me, we haven’t been here an hour yet,” Jon groaned.

“Yeah, and we’ve done nothing but stand here and look cute, and you look nice in a suit,” she said. Jon groaned as she looked down at him, her eyes bright. She was wearing heels so tall she was in danger of towering over him. He didn’t mind it, but it was different. “I’m lucky you’re going to be a lawyer.”

“Last one,” Eggy clapped his hands together, dancing away from the interview like the weight of the world had been lifted from him, then hit Jon’s shoulder. “You ready for the real vultures?”

“Don’t remind me,” Jon grumbled. Eggy grinned, leading them to the final interview. Jon’s insides turned over as he saw the producer talking with the reporter and cameraman.

“Not him,” Rhaenys growled.

Jon knew when Sansa spotted him by the way she folded into his side.

Petyr Baelish was running the last interview spot himself. He couldn’t be banned from the event, considering he was essentially the one running it, though he was sure to be fired from next year’s gala. Jon let his hand curl around Sansa’s hips, drawing her further into the background as Eggy stepped between them and Baelish, his shoulders square. The interview seemed to crawl along, Rhaenys’s jaw visibly clenched the whole way through. She looked like she would tackle Baelish before it was over and done with.

“Arthur will tase him if he tries to touch you,” Jon said lowly. Sure enough, the Dornish man came over, leaving Barristan with Eggy and Rhaenys.

“Let’s go inside,” he gestured toward the stairs, taking Sansa’s arm to help her. She clutched at Jon’s arm too, rightly cautious in those death trap looking heels. Arthur helped them find their table, grabbing them an agenda and a map.

“Should we go look at all the art stuff before people start talking and dinner and everything?”

“Gods, you’re hopeless,” Sansa kissed his cheek. She took his arm, tugging him away from the table, looking at her map. “Yes, let’s go look at all the _art stuff_.”

Arthur trailed them at a respectful distance. There were museum guards as well as private security, and Jon didn’t seem to be able to blink without noticing another security camera. There were a few different costume displays, several sculptures, and galleries upon galleries of paintings and . . . flat art. Things hanging on the wall. All of it done by single mothers or victims of domestic abuse. There was so much, so many artists. So much.

“Are you all right?” Sansa asked as they moved through an exhibit. Jon nodded, eyes stuck on a huge painting of a dark skinned woman with a baby resting on her chest, both asleep. They laid on a couch, the window above them looking into a wildflower dotted meadow. No father, no _man_ , to be seen. Not even a hint of one. His feet ground to a halt as he read the little snippet about the artist and the work. Sansa’s hand rubbed up and down his arm. “Jon?”

“I normally visit Mum’s grave tonight,” Jon murmured. He wasn’t sure why he said it, why she needed to know that. “And I’m at the fanciest party in the world instead.”

“Jon,” she sighed. “We’ll go as soon as we get home tomorrow.”

“He wasn’t there,” Jon whispered, staring at that mother and child. No man in sight. His mother was in a graveyard. His father hadn’t even bothered to come to the funeral. Had never put fresh flowers by the headstone. Lilacs, her favorite. Did he even know that? Rhae and Eggy were great, and they said that their dad sucked, but they did it in the fond way of children who’d been annoyed by him and embarrassed that he’d told _that one story_ in front of their friends. Arthur had come to see Jon. Arthur had visited once or twice a year. Like a favorite uncle.

Arthur had come to the funeral.

“Jon?“

“He didn’t even come to her funeral,” Jon swallowed. Old anger rose and fell. He had only come because Daenerys had dangled law school in front of him, Eggy was right. It was nice to see his siblings, but it should be Elia with them, not him. “We shouldn’t have come. Not for the Feast of the Mother. I’m _here_ , and she’s- she’s all the way . . .”

“Jon, it’ll be all right,” Sansa said, her voice calm and even. “Did your father ask- or offer-“

“No,” Jon let out a sharp breath. “Maybe Dany was just making it up, and we came all this way for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Sansa kissed his cheek lightly. “I had fun. I liked meeting Rhaenys and Aegon. And . . . maybe the next time we come visit, you’ll be ready to talk to Rhaegar about things. About everything.”

“I don’t think- I don’t know,” Jon frowned, looking down at his fancy shoes. They were so damn shiny. _Eggy is gay. The prenup, the will_. How far could a dead man’s influence really reach? Maybe it wasn’t legal, but Targaryens had ways of making things legal.

What if Rhaegar didn’t want him after all?

“What’s going on up in there?” Sansa kissed his temple gently. “You look like you’re going to burn a hole through the floor.”

“I- Rhae and Eggy are in a big fuss about- It’s just- They’re all so worried about Viserys and the inheritance and everything and,” Jon shook his head. “Maybe it’s better if I just don’t bring up law school for a while. Let Viserys get sorted.”

“Jon, breathe,” Sansa said softly. Her hand stroked up and down his back, soft and slow enough that he timed his breath to it. She kissed his temple again. “You really need to get some sleep. You’ve been doing too much for too long.”

“How am I supposed to sleep knowing that it’s time I could spend being . . . _active_ with you,” Jon murmured, meeting her eyes.

“Hmm, we’ll have to work out a schedule.”

Good gods, he loved her.

His father had deemed to arrive by the time the loud speakers were calling people to settle into their tables for speeches and dinner. Appetizers were brought out while people found their seats. They were at a table with Rhaenys, Eggy, their father, while Daenerys and her husband were at the next table over. Sansa munched on breadsticks while the first man waxed poetic about the ongoing mission of the Targaryen Foundation at large.

“Slow down, the good food comes later,” Rhaenys elbowed Sansa gently.

“I’m nervous,” Sansa hissed back. “How many people talk before this thing?”

“Like a dozen,” said Eggy. Sansa groaned, and Jon smiled, talking her hand gently. He kissed it and released it.

“Sorry.”

“Why can’t they go _after_ dinner?” Sansa grumbled.

“Because then people would just leave,” said Rhaegar. Jon met his eyes, biting his tongue. His brows dropped into a quizzical expression. “All right, Jon?”

“Yeah,” Jon cleared his throat a little, ducking his gaze to his plate belatedly. “Just tired.”

“Oh, really, wonder why,” Rhaenys snickered.

“Shh,” Sansa hissed.

“What?” Eggy asked, grinning slowly.

“She’s got a hickey the size of the moon- ow!” Rhaenys and Sansa glared at each other, then Rhaenys shifted, clearly kicking Sansa under the table. Jon covered his face with his hand. He had a sinking feeling about the evidence she’d discovered.

“Please, don’t.”

“This isn’t the time for that conversation, Rhae,” Rhaegar cleared his throat gently.

“Is it anywhere interesting?”

“Eggy,” Jon warned.

“Oh, it is.”

“Can we move on from this?” Rhaegar said clearly.

“Jon has claw marks,” Eggy winked at him, lifting his hands and curling his fingers. “All down his back.”

“Oh, my gods, shut up,” Jon groaned, feeling himself burn as he hid his face in both hands.

“Sansa?” Rhaenys asked softly.

“I was raised by prudes, you can’t- you can’t talk like that in front of me,” Sansa blurted, blessedly quiet while the rest of the room applauded. Jon turned to glance at the stage as he joined the applause blindly with the rest of his family. Rhaenys was still giggling under her breath when the speaker continued.

“How did your traditional duel with Arthur go?” Rhaenys asked, mercifully dropping the topic. Jon shrugged. “Oh, come on. How did it go?”

“Jon kicked his ass,” Eggy said.

“Really?”

“It wasn’t really fair, I’ve been practicing a lot, and he has a real job and-“

“You have a real job,” Sansa said, touching his hand.

“So, Arthur’s just getting old, huh?” Rhaenys hummed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“He has been working the job for close to thirty years, Rhae.”

“Don’t remind me, Dad,” Rhaenys said. “He didn’t come on that much sooner than I did.”

“Honestly, where did the time go?” Rhaegar said.

“Fuck if I know,” Eggy said. The room exploded into applause again, and they all stopped to clap and glance toward the stage. Jon’s stomach dropped as Baelish adjusted the microphone.

“Ah, shit, I forgot he was doing this,” Rhaegar muttered. Several projectors were turned on around the room, screens being pulled up to fit them. Jon frowned at the loading screen, not liking how the entire dining area had been surrounded. Though, he supposed it was necessary with the round tables. People couldn’t be bothered to turn in their chairs any more than they had to, it seemed.

“ _Ahem,_ I’m going to assume this is working because it seemed fine for the last couple of people who asked,” Baelish started. A quiet chuckle ran around the room as Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “Tonight is the twenty-sixth anniversary of the beginning of the sector of the Targaryen Foundation that would become the The Targaryen Foundation Supporting Single Mothers Gala. Of course, when we’re not throwing lavish parties, we are supporting single mothers from Dorne to the Gift.”

“Hasn’t someone already said all this?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Probably,” said Eggy.

“-but despite of all that, we would like for all of you to help us dedicate the night to the very first woman helped by the Targaryen Foundation.”

Sounds kept happening. People were saying words. Jon’s eyes were stuck on the screen directly in front of him. On the photo of his mother. His mother, young and laughing, her arms thrown around his father and Ned Stark. Her feet were barely touching the ground. Blood pounded in his ears. He’d never seen that photo before. Not once, not on the boards at her funeral, not in the house, not on her computer.

“Lyanna Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baelish used induce panic attack!


	33. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threats abound. Jon says nope. Sansa smacks someone. Someone gets shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up late with 3900 words, ADHD, and a day old panic attack*  
> What's good?
> 
> Um, trigger warning for gun violence, I guess? No one dies, but shots are fired, as it were.

Sansa’s gaze was stuck on the photo above Baelish’s head. Ms. Lyanna laughing, looking so young and happy and full of life, held aloft by her father and Jon’s. Her father looked young, too, beaming for the camera. She couldn’t believe it. She’d never seen that photo before, though they didn’t have many photos of Lyanna in the house. They didn’t have many photos of her father either, to be quite honest.

“Lyanna Snow met our current overlord, Rhaegar, while they were in college. She worked for the firm that helped build the current headquarters of all the Targaryen businesses in Westeros. The father of her son, Jon, was _never_ in the picture.” The picture dissolved, becoming a photo that Sansa _had_ seen before. Lyanna asleep on the couch, little baby Jon with his shock of dark hair asleep on her chest. Sansa cursed herself—she should’ve known when Jon stopped at that painting earlier. The crowd awed, but Sansa couldn’t breathe. “She was lucky, however—she was friends with Rhaegar and his personal assistant at the time, Arthur Dayne. The two of them wouldn’t let her go quietly into the night. They arranged it so she’d never have to worry a day in her life about her future, or her son’s. So, she’d never have to rely on a man who clearly did not care much for her or her son.”

The next photo came; Jon and Robb hugging Lyanna’s legs at all of three years old, while she held Sansa on her hip. Sansa’s blood ran cold. That was _Robb_. That was- it was _her_. As a _baby_. That was one of her mother’s favorite photos of Robb, despite Lyanna being in it. He looked like Rickon had—auburn hair; big, chubby, pink cheeks; showing off the baby teeth he could just be trusted with brushing without help. Jon was equally adorable. His head was thrown back to look at the baby (to look at _her_ ), laughing with a riot of curls frozen mid-bounce above his head. The perfect picture to depict Jon and Robb’s lasting, destined friendship. There was a similar photo from about a year ago, where they had Arya sitting on their shoulders and nearly identical smiles to the ones they’d had as toddlers. Sansa didn’t know what they’d do if Baelish had managed to find that one. “They even funded her move to the North.”

“They shouldn’t have these photos,” Sansa whispered. She turned in her chair to find Rhaenys and Aegon staring open mouthed at the screens. Rhaegar glared at his plate, his face bone white and eyes wider than saucers. Not a good sign, definitely not a good sign. She twisted to look at Jon. He was paler than the tablecloth. Paler than his father, somehow. “Jon?” The color bled from his lips as he stared at his mother. “Jon?” He didn’t react, even as Baelish kept talking about his mother and the photo changed again. “Jon?”

“Jon,” Rhaenys said sharply. Sansa reached for him, aiming to shake him to his senses. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all, she knew.

“Are you all right?” Sansa asked uselessly. How could he possibly be all right? He pushed back out of his chair, standing. Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little faint as he looked up at Baelish on the stage, his hands slowly balling into fists at his side. “ _Jon, don’t._ ”

He walked away, weaving through the tables back toward the exhibits. Sansa glanced at Rhaenys, who was gaping at his back. A lot of people were. The photo up was one of Jon as a teenager. There was no mistaking him, grinning as Ms. Lyanna kissed his cheek. Even with a suit on, over half a decade older (probably closer to a full decade but did she really want to think about that?), he was plainly recognizable based on his hair alone. A murmur broke open at his back.

Sansa rocketed to her feet, surging after him. He couldn’t possibly want to be alone. He’d hurt himself. He beat her out into the hallway but didn’t get much further than that.

“Jon,” she grabbed his wrist but he wrenched away, spinning to look at her with wild eyes. “Jon, it’s just me, it’s Sansa.”

“I can’t do this,” he shook his head, walking backward toward the entrance to the museum. “I can’t go back in there-“

“I know, it’s okay, I won’t make you,” Sansa said softly, reaching for his hand again. He let her take it, still shaking his head. He half pulled her onward with him.

“I _can’t_ -“

“I know, we’re not going back, okay?” Sansa said, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. Her eyes burned as she watched him. “I- I can’t- I won’t make you go back.”

“Okay,” Jon whispered, drawing to a stop. Sansa squeezed his hand gently. His face contorted as tears spilled over his cheeks. She reached up with her free hand to brush away the streaks carefully. “I- I just- I can’t do it, Sans, I can’t-“

“That’s okay,” she answered, cupping his cheek in her palm. “That’s okay.”

“I’m- I’m so _tired,_ Sans, I’m _so tired_.” He sobbed quietly, melting into her. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, letting him curl into her as they cried. She trailed her fingers through his hair as steadily as she could, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears in her own eyes.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Sh, sh, Jon, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry-“

“That was vile and cruel, Jon. That’s all,” Sansa held him close. “It was just cruel.”

Footsteps behind her had her glancing back. It was only Arthur. She sighed, turning back to rest her chin over Jon’s shoulder. His shuddering breaths slowly eased. She ran her hands through his hair until he straightened, sniffling quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“That was just cruel,” Sansa murmured again, kissing his cheek. She again wiped the tears off his cheeks carefully. He looked exhausted, he really did. “He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was cruel.”

“I haven’t even seen some of those photos,” Jon said.

“I hadn’t seen some either,” Sansa said. Jon hung his head, swiping at his face. She kissed the crown of his head gently. “Do you think that- Do you think he got them from your father?”

“Not willingly,” Jon mumbled. “This is why I made them delete that footage of us.”

“I get it,” Sansa said, slipping her fingers under his chin and making him look at her. She hugged him again, holding him tightly. “Do you want to go back to the penthouse?”

“No. I want to go home,” Jon said. Sansa swallowed, looking back to Arthur. He only nodded. If Jon wanted to go back to Winterfell, it seemed like they could do so immediately. They could probably afford a last-minute plane ticket.

“We need to go back to the penthouse to change and get our things at least. Then we can go home,” Sansa said softly.

“Okay,” Jon whispered. She fitted her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. She looked over her shoulder at Arthur.

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he said thickly. He cleared his throat. “But not out the front. There’s an exit this way. And we need to warn Rhaegar.”

“I’ll run and tell him, you stay with Jon,” Sansa said, pushing her thumbs under her eyes. They came away blessedly clean. Thank the gods for waterproof mascara.

“Wait, Miss Stark-“

“I won’t be long,” Sansa said, bending to throw off her heels. She left them with the men, pulling her hem up so she could move back to the ballroom where people had begun to dine. Sansa supposed the speeches hadn’t taken long. Or maybe time had refused to flow normally as soon as she’d seen Jon’s tears. One or the other.

“We were just about to come looking,” Daenerys said emphatically. She and Drogo had taken Jon and Sansa’s seats at the table. Sansa couldn’t hide whatever flashed across her face. She wasn’t even sure what it could be. She looked away from Daenerys quickly.

She bent over next to Rhaegar, bracing herself on his shoulder gently. “Jon and I are going back to the penthouse. Maybe back to Winterfell, depending on Arthur and- and if Jon still wants to go once we’re there. He’s just- he’s tired and he’s so incredibly stressed because he cares about every little thing. Um. So, we’re leaving.”

“Of course, that’s fine. If he needs space- of course. Of- of course, anything he needs,” Rhaegar nodded weakly, his voice incredibly strained. Sansa squeezed his shoulder carefully. He looked up at her, violet eyes searing. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”

“Anything he needs,” Sansa answered. She pulled away, leaving just as quickly as she’d entered, her mind on Jon and Jon and Jon.

She slammed into someone, apologies bursting from her as she tried to duck around them, only to be stopped by a cold iron grip on her upper arm. She lurched to a stop, her eyes darting up the tux to meet Petyr Baelish’s calculating eyes.

“Are you all right, Miss Stark?”

“I’m needed elsewhere,” she said, clamping down on the panic in her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

“Do you need water or-“ Sansa took a step back—or tried to. Baelish’s grip on her held. “Miss Stark, are you drunk?”

“I am not. Let go of me,” Sansa said clearly. “Mr. Dayne is waiting for me.”

“You look unwell-“

“Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“I’m sorry, I was only trying to help,” he smiled a too easy smile, his too soft hands slipping off her. A shudder ran through her violently. Sansa took a step back. “I-“

She smacked him. She wasn’t really sure when she’d decided to do so. She marched past him before the sound attracted attention from anyone else. Her palm tingled vaguely as she walked, and she shook her hand in a vain attempt to get rid of the pins and needles. Jon and Arthur were in the hallway, talking quietly. Arthur had both hands on his shoulders. Jon held her heels in one hand, the straps curled over his fingers. He caught sight of her as she hurried toward them.

“Sans?”

“We need to go now,” she said, reaching for him. Arthur backed away from him, giving her a quizzical look. Jon took her hand, interlacing their fingers.

“This way,” Arthur gestured down the hall toward the exhibits.

“What did you do?” Jon asked quietly.

“I, um, smacked Baelish. A little bit.”

Quite hard, if the sensation in her hand was anything to judge by.

“Shit,” Arthur muttered. He lifted his wrist to his mouth. “Dawn to Bold. . . . Yeah, I have them, did she really have an altercation with Mockingbird?”

“Do you have a code name?” Sansa asked.

“Um, what?” Jon blinked at her. It was clear from his face he hadn’t been paying attention. Sansa frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I was picturing you smacking Baelish and for some reason my brain kept replacing you with Arya. You _smacked_ him?”

“I did,” Sansa’s frown only deepened, watching Arthur’s back as they passed a few security guards. “I- I didn’t really mean to. I just sort of did.”

“Gods, I wish I’d seen that,” Jon muttered.

“Well, he- he sort of grabbed me and accused me of being drunk,” Sansa said. “I just- lost it a bit, I guess.”

“He grabbed you?” Jon ground slowly to a stop at the same pace as Arthur did. The guard turned to face them. Jon’s eyes were dark as they held hers. “He _touched_ you?”

“Bold did you see the altercation? . . . He grabbed Red. . . . No, don’t tell them, we don’t need this to go any further.”

“That means you’re not allowed to go back there,” Sansa said, pushing closer to Jon. He looked down at her dubiously. With him in dress shoes and her barefoot, he was actually taller than her for once. “Jon, I think you’ve punched more than enough men for me as it is.”

“Well, maybe men should stop being predatory asses around you,” Jon lifted his chin. She bit her lip as she watched him. He tilted his head, focused on her instead of marching off. That was good. She liked that. “And you should let me or Arya teach you how to hit people so you can do that instead of slapping them.”

“Jon, Sansa, we need to keep moving,” Arthur said, waving them forward.

Sansa leaned into Jon as they followed Arthur through the maze of a museum. They ended up in the maintenance tunnels or something, dark and just spooky enough to remind one they weren’t supposed to be there. Pipes ran overhead, creaking and clacking. The utilitarian concrete floor was cold, but she didn’t bother putting the heels back on. Jon periodically squeezed her hand, shuffling along beside her.

“Do you still want to go home?” Sansa asked quietly. He had to be exhausted, just exhausted.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Sansa nodded. She squeezed his hand back. “We can change our flight, you can sleep on the plane, and I’ll tell Mum that we’ll come by in the evening.”

“We can go over tomorrow for lunch if we’re going to be back-“

“You need to sleep. We can discuss it tomorrow,” Sansa said.

“It would be less trouble to go tomorrow like we planned.”

“Don’t think about trouble right now, Jon. Your girlfriend is right; you need your rest,” Arthur said. “It’s okay if you want to go home.”

“I feel like we _just_ got here though.”

“It was always going to be a short trip,” Sansa reminded him. “We can come back sometime.”

“Okay,” Jon nodded. He let out a heavy sigh. “I just- I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed.”

“Then we’ll go home.”

“Wheels, we need you at the south service exit,” Arthur said into his radio. “Wolf and Red are going home.”

“You couldn’t come up with a better codename than ‘Red?’” Sansa frowned. “And why is Jon ‘Wolf?’”

Arthur shrugged, “We were a little pressed for time in your case, and Jon inherited his mother’s codename.”

“Wait, really?”

They reached the end of the hallway before Arthur could explain. He opened the door, holding it for them as he scanned the alley it opened into. Jon slipped out, pulling her along.

“Wheels, we’re outside-“

A deafening bang cut him off. Sansa couldn’t help the alarmed shriek that left her as Jon shoved her behind him. The door closed. Sansa could hear the lock click.

“Azor Ahai,” Arthur muttered, clapping one hand over his upper arm. He side-stepped to stand in front of Jon.

From the shadows on the other side of the street, a tall, slim man with pale dirty hair and wild eyes emerged. Sansa couldn’t get much of a look at him, what with Jon and Arthur both standing in the way. Still, a chill ran down her spine. Jon let her heels drop to the ground.

“You’re a shit shot, Viserys,” said Arthur. “Had me dead to rights and all you could manage was a flesh wound. How embarrassing.”

“Shut up!” The man spat. Viserys. Jon pressed further back, as though he could push her straight through the wall. She curled her hands in the back of his suit. “Run back to my brother before I have to kill you.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Arthur said calmly. Sansa shuddered, leaning her forehead down against Jon’s shoulder. She couldn’t watch this, she couldn’t watch him get shot again. What if it wasn’t a flesh wound next time?

“It’ll be all right,” Jon breathed, one hand reaching back to touch her hip gently. “You’ll be okay.”

“Get out of here, Dayne!” Viserys snapped.

“I’m not going to let you hurt Jon,” Arthur said, his voice even. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She didn’t want to watch, she couldn’t watch. She could hear Jon’s uncle stepping closer.

“I just want the stupid boy.”

“Rhaegar’s sending that stupid boy to law school, Viserys. He’s far more intelligent than you’ve ever managed,” Arthur said.

“Yes, he found a way to steal _my money.”_

Jon stiffened. Sansa shook her head against him. “Don’t- don’t do anything. Please, don’t do anything.”

“Jon’s not entitled to any of the inheritance by precedence or contract, Viserys. The only money he gets is what Rhaegar chooses to give him.”

“Oh, come now, we all know that’s not true. Aegon is a sodomizing-“

“You shut your mouth!” Jon growled, lurching forward. Sansa tugged him back, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

“Don’t do anything, don’t do anything,” Sansa muttered. She stared at Arthur’s back. Where the hell was the car? There was supposed to be a car coming, wasn’t there?

“I’m well aware of Eggy and his interests. _Jon is not entitled to any of the inheritance.”_

“I’ve seen the pre-nuptial-“

“That was nullified as soon as your father died. The conditions of his will cannot be legally fulfilled either—the estate is in Rhaegar’s care, and what he decides to do with it is his business.”

“He wanted me to have the money—he knew the Martells were _weak_ , he knew there was no reason to give a bastard- it’s _my money,_ Father wanted _me_ to have it, he knew Rhaegar didn’t have any _real_ sons!”

“Eggy was _two_ when he died,” Jon said sharply. “He didn’t know shit.”

Sansa had definitely missed something, but she couldn’t figure what, exactly, it was for the life of her.

“You will not talk about him like he was a normal person! He was the blood of the dragon, as am I!”

Sansa caught sight of him again. He looked demented, the gun held in two hands that shook too much. At least it was a little gun. A revolver. They only had a few bullets. Not many. Just a few. More than enough if he managed to actually aim.

“Viserys, you need help,” Arthur said lowly. “There hasn’t been a true Targaryen in centuries.”

“Give me the girl.”

“No.”

“Give her to me!”

“ _No.”_

“Give me the fucking girl, Dayne!”

“You want a hostage, you take me, Viserys. I’ve known your brother longer than they’ve been alive,” Arthur said.

“You expect me to believe he cares more about you than his son’s precious whore? One who’s no doubt carrying his grandchild by now?”

“You think I’d make the same mistakes he did?” Jon snorted. “You really are delusional.”

“Get out of the way, Dayne.”

“Listen to me, Viserys,” Arthur took a step closer to him, his hands held up. “Hurting them gains you nothing. Rhaegar will only act to spite you.”

“That’s all he’s ever done.”

“I know that. That’s why you have to take me, Viserys. He’s going to spite you either way, you may as well make it hurt as much as you can,” Arthur said.

“You think little Jonny will ever forgive him if I get to have the girl? He’ll hate Rhaegar forever. Now, give her to me.”

“Take me,” Arthur stepped forward again.

“Give her to me!” Viserys demanded, stepping closer himself. Arthur lunged, kicking the gun from his hand. Sansa gaped as he barreled into Viserys, dragging him into the pavement. The door burst open beside her, and she jumped as Jon pulled her away. Barristan came through, his own weapon drawn.

“Arthur?” Barristan kicked the gun farther from Viserys.

“I got him!”

“Wheels, you’re clear.”

An SUV entered the alley immediately. She let go of Jon to shield her eyes from the light, turning her head enough to see Arthur punching Viserys where he straddled him. He stopped when Barristan touched his shoulder.

“Stay with them.”

“Yeah.”

The car screeched to a halt, and a guard popped out of the passenger seat to open the door for them. Sansa’s feet refused to move. Arthur stood hastily, shaking out his arm. Blood ran down over his hand.

“You’re- he shot you,” Sansa said dully.

“I know. We need to go,” Arthur said, gesturing toward the car.

“He had a gun.”

“Sansa,” Jon said, his hands cupping her face. His eyes were dark, wide. “You’re not hurt. Neither am I. Arthur’s only a little bit shot, so we need to go.”

“We’re going to the hospital with him?”

“I’m not sure, let’s get in the car, though, okay?”

“We were waiting for the car.”

“We were, yes, and now it’s here, it’s ready for us. Let’s go, all right?”

“We need to leave,” Sansa nodded. Jon smiled weakly, releasing her but taking her hand in his. “Where are my heels?”

“They’ll get them.”

“Oh. They’re expensive.”

“I know,” Jon tugged her toward the car gently. She climbed into it after him. Arthur joined them in the back, making sure they were buckled before the car lurched into reverse. They spun sharply. Jon handed her her phone. He had pockets and had been designated the phone holder. Her wallet and things were in one of the cars. Maybe this one. Arthur had Jon’s wallet. “Call your dad. Please.”

“Why?”

“We don’t have access to your apartment complex, but we do still have Lyanna’s house. We can set up there to make sure nothing follows you north,” said Arthur. Sansa gaped at him, her phone clutched tightly in hand. “Viserys emptied over two hundred thousand dragons from his bank account in the weeks before he vanished, all in cash. We thought it might be his drug issue, but he emptied too much too quickly, and he wasn’t carrying any of it. He could have hired someone to harm either or both of you.”

“What?”

“Call your dad, Sans,” Jon said gently. She looked at him. He was too calm. He had to be freaking out too. He had to be. He touched her cheek gently. “Call your dad. Tell him what happened.”

“But-“

“Sansa, we need to warn him, so he can keep an eye out. Your father’s incredibly perceptive; if there’s something wrong in Winterfell, he’ll have noticed,” said Arthur.

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Sans. Call him, please,” Jon said. Sansa nodded, fumbling as she unlocked her phone. Her hands were shaking. They were shaking a lot.

“Hey, Sans, I thought you were at that gala thing tonight.”

“Dad, we’re coming home tonight,” Sansa said. Jon took her free hand and kissed the back of it softly. “Jon-“

“What happened?” he demanded. “Are you okay?” His voice became muddled even as he clearly raised it. “ _Robb, look up flights to King’s Landing tonight!”_

“No, Dad, we’re- we’re coming back, don’t come here, don’t go south, don’t do it.”

“Sansa, what happened? Are you and Jon okay?”

“I- I think so?” Sansa shuddered. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. “We were- Baelish tried to- I don’t even know what and then Jon’s uncle-“

“ _Baelish?_ Petyr Baelish?!”

“Yeah, he- he was- and then Viserys tried to kill us, I think, and he shot Arthur.”

“Wh- Wait- what-“

“I don’t really know what’s going on anymore,” Sansa admitted with a nervous laugh.

“It’s okay, you’re coming home. You’ll be safe at home. Home- the boys’ apartment or _home_ home?”

“The house,” Sansa said.

“Okay. Can I talk to Jon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I been writing other shit instead of this again? Yes.  
> Is it the most brilliant brain child I've ever had? Idk, it feels pretty far up there.  
> So, I still have a Rhaegar Wins Semi-Canon AU Jonsa in the works, but now, to round out my AUs, I have a Jonsa x DC Universe AU with Starklings as the Batfam. Rickon and Damien have the EXACT same feral child energy and no one can convince me otherwise. It's gonna be the heftiest of heft because I have like three novel length arcs wiggling out of my brain holes at the moment. That's probably the grossest way to describe a persistent idea. Anyway.
> 
> This ole homeboy is getting close to wrapping up, and by that, I mean I know how I want to end it and how I want to write the epilogue, even if I haven't actually, you know, written that yet.


	34. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa return to Winterfell.

They were above the Twins when Jon realized what had happened. They hadn’t gone to the hospital. Arthur had bandaged himself in the car. They hadn’t gone back to the penthouse to get any of their things. They’d gone straight to the airport. Sansa didn’t have shoes and Jon had carried her to the plane. The plane that had been in a hangar waiting for them.

They were on a private jet.

“Jon, they picked up some clothes from the gift shop for you two to change into,” Arthur said. Jon blinked, looking up at him. Arthur was still in most of a tux, though he’d lost the jacket and his crisp white shirt had a big red splotch where he’d been shot. He looked like James Bond. Jon and Sansa were on a couch, her head in his lap as she slept. Arthur set a stack of sweats and a plastic grocery bag on the table in front of them. He sighed, “You haven’t even undone your tie, bud.”

“Is your arm okay?”

“Barely a graze,” Arthur shrugged. “Have her go change, sleeping in a dress like that can’t be very comfortable.”

“I’ll ask,” Jon looked down at her. Her mouth was open a little bit, her face completely relaxed. She looked so calm. He hoped she wasn’t dreaming. She rarely seemed to have good dreams. He didn’t want to interrupt her if she was. “I don’t want to wake her up.”

“Jon, you’ll both feel better when you aren’t wrapped up like that,” Arthur sat down in the row of seats next to them. “And she needs to get the make-up off her face.”

Jon sighed, shaking her shoulder gently. “Hey, Sans?”

“Mm.”

“They bought you sweats to change into,” he said. Her eyes opened slowly, and she squinted up at him. “You can get out of the dress.”

“Can you imagine Dad’s face if we showed up like this?”

“Go change,” he rolled his eyes, watching the start of her smile as she sat up. She got to her feet carefully, going through the sweats.

“You went to NRKU, right?” Arthur asked. Sansa nodded, grabbing black sweats, a red t-shirt, and a black hoodie from the pile. “Hope you don’t mind, I asked Rhae for your size.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa murmured. She looked behind her, “I just change back there?”

“Yeah, there’s a curtain in the doorway, gives you a bit more space than just the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Sansa wandered into the back, pulling the curtain across. She fixed it so it couldn’t slide open. Jon forced himself to his feet, looking through the rest of the clothes. More black sweats, and a grey t-shirt. He looked in the bag. A thing of make-up wipes, two toothbrushes, and a travel size toothpaste. Jon grabbed the bag and went back toward the curtain.

“Take this,” Jon carefully pushed the bag through the curtain, making sure he was blocking whatever gap he’d created. The bag rustled as she took it.

“Oh. Tell Arthur thank you for me, please?”

“I will. You all right?”

“The dress is- it’s not _stuck_ , I’m just having a little trouble reaching the zipper,” Sansa murmured.

Jon glanced back at Arthur, clearing his throat a little. “Do you need help?”

“Maybe. I think so. Yes.”

“Okay, can I come back?”

“Yes.”

Jon carefully slipped through the curtain. Sansa was still fully dressed; the other clothes sat on a thin counter with the bag on top. There wasn’t very much space. She still looked far too beautiful. Her make-up had hardly smudged at all. She turned, lifting one arm, exposing the long zipper that ran from under her armpit down past her hip. Her hands trembled violently.

“The last time we did this, we were drunk,” Jon hummed, grasping the zipper carefully and gently tugging it down. Sansa nodded, pulling at the band going around her neck. It came undone after a moment—there was a hidden clasp under some embroidered silver roses. He unzipped her all the way, then watched as she climbed out of it. He grabbed her shirt, clearing his throat quietly.

“You wouldn’t touch me last time,” Sansa said, taking the shirt. She stared at it. He didn’t—she wasn’t wearing a bra. Or anything remotely bra-like. She was just bare. And it was damn distracting. “Jon?”

“What?”

“You’re staring,” she threw the shirt over her head, wiggling into it. Jon shook himself mentally. She was right. There was only a curtain between them and Arthur.

She stepped closer then, and there wasn’t much space for that. She wrapped her arms around his neck, dropping her forehead against his. She was still shaking. He held her for a long moment, his arms tight around her waist.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispered, nudging her nose with his.

“I thought you were going to do something stupid and he would shoot you,” Sansa admitted. Jon kissed her softly.

“If you weren’t there, maybe I would’ve,” he said. He stole another kiss, and another. “You need to get dressed, take your make-up off.”

“Okay,” she sighed, pressing closer to kiss him again. He smiled against her, then pulled away. She huffed. “Oh, fine.”

Jon pushed back into the main cabin, running his hands through his hair as he sat down on the couch again. Arthur watched him, eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“You weren’t back there long.”

“She needed help with her zipper.”

“Uh-huh. You were there longer than that, though.”

“I’m not an exhibitionist, Arthur,” Jon muttered. The curtain rattled as the bathroom door opened and closed. Jon took a deep breath.

“You all right?” Arthur asked lowly.

“It’s a good thing I’m already in therapy,” Jon chuckled wryly, bending to hold his face in his hands. He kept his breathing even, wincing as the plane rumbled through a bout of turbulence.

Sansa finished up fairly quickly, and Jon went back to change, forgoing the sweatshirt. He brushed his teeth hastily. Sansa and Arthur were talking quietly by the time he was done. He settled down into the corner of the couch he’d claimed. Sansa immediately laid down, resting her head in his lap. He ran his hands through her hair, now that it was loose and down.

Jon didn’t really recall falling asleep, but soon enough Arthur shook them awake so they could buckle in for the landing. Jon glanced at his phone. Robb and Sam had blown up his phone while it was in airplane mode.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Arthur muttered, looking out the window as they taxied across the runway. Jon scrolled through Sam’s messages first. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

_Gilly and I spotted you on the telly, you didn’t say you were going to be in King’s Landing for the holiday._

_They’re saying on the news that Viserys was arrested, isn’t he your uncle?_

_He attacked Rhaenys’s assistant but that one interview made it look like Sansa was pretending to be her assistant._

_They didn’t arrest him for murder so I’m assuming you’re all right._

_You are okay aren’t you?_

_You’re probably on a plane, right? Going somewhere safe?_

“I have to call Sam,” Jon muttered, touching the button as Sansa grabbed his sweatshirt and pushed it toward him. He thanked her absently. The line didn’t ring for long. “Sam?”

“Jon, oh, thank the gods,” Sam rushed. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, we just landed back in Winterfell,” Jon said. “We’re spending the rest of the holiday at Sansa’s parents’ place.”

“Were you really attacked?”

“A little bit. We’re both kinda shook up, but we’ll make it.”

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to make sure, I thought I’d carried myself away,” Sam said, sounding a little out of breath. Jon smiled in spite of himself.

“Thanks, Sam. I gotta call Robb now.”

“You- you called me first?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon, bye.”

“Oh, erm, bye, Jon.”

“Jon,” Sansa whispered, pulling on his sleeve. “Look.”

He frowned, looking out the window behind them. He squinted, his frown easing. “It’s snowing.”

“I still don’t have shoes,” Sansa laughed, shaking her head. “And it’s snowing.”

“Kind of unfortunate for you, love,” Jon kissed her gently. “I need to call your brother.”

“Okay.”

Robb picked up even faster than Sam, if that was possible. “You landed?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Robb said, his anxiety clear. “Dad! They landed! I’m leaving! . . . Okay, okay, we’re on our way to get you, it might take a little longer ‘cause of the roads and all but we’re-“

“Just be careful,” Jon said easily. “Sansa and I are okay for now; we’ll just stay put. All right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um, but you- you should know,” Robb’s voice dropped. “Mum is really, very not happy with you. And Dad. And maybe Sansa? I don’t know, I think she’s freaking out a little bit, and well, she is just not doing great, you know?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I kinda figured that would happen,” Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was probably going to get choked slammed into a wall. “How bad is it?”

“I- I don’t think she’ll let you in the house.”

Jon froze, “Are you serious?”

“Hang on.”

“Mum and Dad have been having a shouting match about it for over an hour,” Arya said. Jon jumped a little at her voice. There was the sound of an engine turning over.

“Yeah, she’s really not happy,” Robb said. “Put your seatbelt on.”

“Well, I can just stay at my mum’s house,” Jon said. “Arthur and the guards were going to set up there anyway.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Sansa leaned into him, finally drawing her gaze away from the window. The jet came to a slow halt.

“Apparently your mum doesn’t want me in the house,” Jon said quietly. Arya said something Jon didn’t hear. He was trapped in the storm settling over Sansa’s face. He wanted to qualify it, say it was just Robb, that maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe her dad would talk Ms. Catelyn down by the time they got there. Maybe she didn’t want to rip Jon into little pieces for bringing Sansa into harm’s way. Sansa turned away from him abruptly, pushing her tangled hair away back over her shoulder. Jon cleared his throat, putting his phone back to his ear, “I’m sorry, what was Arya saying?”

“Jon, we need to deplane,” Arthur said. “We can meet Robb at the main entrance to the airport. There’s a little coffee shop we can sit and wait at.”

“Okay,” he stood, throwing the sweatshirt on hastily. Sansa got up, following Arthur to the front of the plane. “Robb, you’re going to just the main parking structure, okay, we’ll be waiting at the Winterfell Coffeehouse inside.”

“All right, sounds good. Arya, say what you said again.”

“I _said_ , it’s fucking nonsense bullshit that Mum sees you’ve had a traumatic event with Sansa and is either a) trying to separate you or b) pushing the both of you away after complaining for two days straight that the pair of you had gone to yours instead of ours for the holiday, acting like banning you from the house is going to help anything and accomplish _anything_ but _piss Sansa the fuck off!”_ Arya’s Northern brogue strengthened to the point that it was a good thing Jon had grown up with her. He wasn’t sure half the people in Wintertown would’ve been able to understand her. It had him smiling even as he realizing he was following Sansa down the steps, that it was _snowing_ and she _didn’t have shoes on._

He caught his bearings pretty quickly—it was a straight shot across the tarmac to an open door casting golden light out into the blue and silver night. It was maybe 100 meters from the last step.

His brain was still caught up in _piss Sansa the fuck off._ He didn’t know that he wanted to be in between her and her mother. He liked the idea of her pissed off on his behalf. He didn’t get to see Sansa in protective mode very often.

She’d really smacked Baelish, hadn’t she?

“Hang on, Sansa, wait,” Jon said. “I gotta go, see you soon.” He tucked his phone in his pocket and tried to catch her before they reached the tarmac. “Sansa, wait, it’s- it’s cold-“ She skipped the last step, jumping onto the ice like a _lunatic_ as she brought her phone up to her ear, marching past Arthur toward the door, seemingly unbothered by the frozen ground. “Sansa!”

“I warned you,” she said, low and dangerous into her phone. “ _I warned you.”_

“Who the hell is she talking to?!” Arthur hissed, struggling to get ahead of her again. She sped up, halfway between speed-walking and jogging. Damn her and her long legs. It was too slick out to try and run to catch her up, especially in his grip-free dress shoes.

“Sansa, your feet!”

“I _told you_ what I’d do if you decided you were going to treat him like shit!”

“She’s talking to her mother,” Jon whispered. A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the frigid night air. She was talking to _her mother_ like that.

“Oh, you don’t remember? You don’t remember?!” Sansa snapped. “ _I do._ . . . Yes, I’m going to speak to you that way, especially if you’re going to treat Jon that way. . . . He called Robb. . . . _Yes,_ Robb said something, we were planning on going to the house. . . . Because the apartment isn’t safe. . . . No, we’re going to Jon’s house. The one across the street. . . . Jon _is_ family, Mum.”

Jon caught her free hand just as they made it inside. He pulled her enough that Arthur could slip ahead of them, leading them through the airport toward the coffee shop. Jon swallowed, ignoring the odd looks people cast their way. Three more guards followed behind them.

“No, _no_ , you don’t get to have it both ways. I’m staying with Jon tonight. I’m not stepping foot into that wretched house you have the _nerve_ to call a home until Jon does. I’m not going back without him. . . . I don’t- I don’t care, Mum . . . _You’re_ being unreasonable, he’s never once done anything to deserve this, and I- I’m in-. . . . No. . . . _No._ I don’t give a damn, _Mother._ . . . Co-coerced?! I coerced _him!_ . . . Yes, well, I’m sorry. . . . No, you’ve lost it if you think I’d do- . . . I said _no_.”

Sansa hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has learned how to say no >:)
> 
> Don't worry, Protective Cat is coming, she just has no idea what's happening and has poor coping skills.


	35. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa return to Jon's childhood home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's good?

Jon noticed she was crying long before they sat down at the coffeehouse. He asked Arthur to get them a black coffee and a hot chocolate and put Sansa in one of the little chairs, flopping into the one next to her. He grabbed a napkin and handed it to her. She blew her nose, her shoulders shaking. He drew her against him, holding her as she broke down into sobs.

“You can go home, you don’t have to stay with me,” Jon murmured, stroking her hair carefully. “You can go see your parents.”

“I- I don’t- don’t want t-to.”

“Sans-“

“I’ll just- just worry about- about you,” she hiccoughed. Jon shushed her quietly, rocking her back and forth gently. “You make- make me feel s-safe.”

“Then you’ll stay with me,” Jon said. She nodded into his chest. He held her, ignoring Arthur as he sat at the table with them. The three guards took spots at the other tables, all turned different ways. Arthur cleared his throat as Sansa’s sniffling slowly died down. “What?”

“They’re questioning Viserys about what he did with the money now,” Arthur said. “Baelish is in the wind; they think he was supposed to get her out of the way for him.”

“Azor Ahai,” Jon muttered. Sansa took another napkin, cleaning off her face carefully. She sat up, sniffing occasionally. Jon slung his arm around her shoulders, idly tracing a circle into her arm with two fingers. She leaned into him again.

“Arthur?” The barista called. He got up.

“You didn’t have to say all that to your mum,” Jon said lowly.

“No, I did. No one ever stands up to her about you except Dad,” Sansa mumbled. “And I used to always take her side, even when . . . She just- she actually thought I would be relieved. She thinks- thinks you entrapped me into a relationship with you, but _I’m_ the one who entrapped _you_.”

“I don’t think there was any entrapment, love,” Jon kissed her hair gently. “Except for the part where you said ‘let’s pretend to date for Robb’ as a ploy to spend more time with me when you could’ve just said ‘Jon, you have a good bum and I want to pull your hair.’”

“We could’ve had so much more sex by now if I had led with that.”

_“So_ much more sex,” Jon chuckled, kissing her when she turned her face toward his. He could feel her shaking slightly, and he touched her cheek softly as she sighed against him. “We’ll be okay, Sans. It’ll turn out all right.”

“I- I just want to be with- with you for- for . . .” Sansa kissed him carefully, her hand curling into his shoulder. Jon held her close, letting his mind numb as her mouth moved against his slowly.

Arthur cleared his throat violently, setting down their cups in front of them. Sansa sat straight, clearing her throat quietly as she pulled off him. Jon peeled back the lid on one, saw it was the hot chocolate, and pushed it toward Sansa. He took a sip of the other and made a face. “You thought I was going to give you black coffee at two a.m.? Really?”

“How dare you betray me like this,” Jon sipped at his hot chocolate again. Arthur rolled his eyes, scanning the near empty airport. His phone buzzed and he jumped, pulling it out of his pocket. “Hello?”

“We’re here,” Arya said.

“They’re here, come on,” Jon said, pulling away from Sansa and helping her to her feet. He handed Arthur their hot chocolates and swept her up into his arms.

“You don’t need to keep doing that.”

“Your feet are cold enough in the middle of the night without you walking barefoot in the snow, thank you kindly,” Jon grunted. Robb was in his mom’s minivan. He supposed it was a good thing—he’d completely forgotten to mention the security team to Robb.

“We’ll have to put one in the trunk,” Arthur grumbled. Indeed, they did. Arthur and the two other guards squished into the back seat, leaving Sansa and Jon the seats behind Robb and Arya. Jon couldn’t help but think of a clown car. He doubted anyone who said a car ‘seats seven’ meant all seven were adults.

“Are you hurt?!” Arya demanded as Jon set her down in the car. Sansa shook her head, sliding over into the next seat so Jon wouldn’t have to climb over her.

“She doesn’t have shoes,” Jon explained.

“What?” Arya’s frown deepened.

“Why not?” Robb said.

“Where are they?”

“King’s Landing,” Sansa mumbled.

“Huh,” Robb mumbled. Jon slammed the door shut behind him and they crept off on the icy roads. Jon rubbed his hands together, glancing back at the guards behind him. Arthur made a face at him.

“Oh, uh, Arthur, this is Robb and Arya.”

“I know.”

Jon offered half a shrug and a confused glare, but Arthur only shook his head. So much for that.

Arya cleared her throat loudly and gave Sansa a Look that probably held more information than an undergrad course. “Have you talked to Mum?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Frankly, I think I may _also_ be banned from the house. I’m staying with Jon tonight.”

It wasn’t so long before they were pulling into Jon’s driveway. It was weird, being in the Stark’s car, pulling into his driveway. Like a fever dream from secondary school. Arthur had the house key. Technically, Jon owned the house, but he hadn’t been to it in a while. His father had set up a security system and a maid came weekly, apparently. Jon hadn’t ever been told. Or maybe he’d forgotten. It was just enough to keep squatters out, according to Arthur. Jon suspected there was more, but he was too tired to ask.

Standing in the entry way, he felt all the energy leave him.

“You can take Mum’s room,” Jon said to Arthur. “Sansa and I will take mine. There’s a guest room across from Mum’s, a pullout couch in the study, another room downstairs in the basement, and couches up here and in the basement. There’s a day bed in the sunroom, too.”

“Okay,” Arthur touched his shoulder gently. He probably already knew all that. “We’ll settle in, say goodnight to your friends.”

“Yeah,” Jon nodded, turning back to the driveway. Arya and Sansa had been hugging since the car stopped, swaying back and forth. Sansa’s feet had to be freezing. Robb approached him, his arms spread. Jon embraced him whole-heartedly, tighter than maybe he should’ve.

“Mum will come around,” Robb said quietly. “She’s just freaked out. We all are.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jon sighed. Robb pulled away, offering him a slim smile. “I’ll be all right, you know.”

“Yeah,” Robb nodded. Sansa and Arya finally broke apart, and Jon caught her as she launched herself on him.

“Next time, take me with you, I’ll kick a motherfucker’s ass.”

“Oh, I know you would,” Jon laughed. “Now get off me before I slip and crack my head open.”

“You’re no fun,” Arya dropped to the ground. She shivered and skipped back into the car. Jon crammed his hands in his sweatshirt pocket as Robb and Sansa hugged. He bounced on the balls of his feet. He couldn’t tell what Sansa and Robb were saying. Probably something about him. Or maybe he was just a paranoid narcissist. Maybe they were having one of those ‘we’re siblings so we don’t apologize but maybe we should, but I don’t want to be the one to start’ talks. He remembered them being a yearly-to-monthly occurrence as a teenager.

He remembered the first time Robb had gotten a dirty look and he _hadn’t_. Usually, her dirty looks were for both of them, but eventually she started giving the dirty look to whoever she felt deserved it—and freed him from having to apologize for Robb. He still did for years anyway.

That first time though, the first time she had glared at Robb and smiled at Jon. He could still remember that smile. Forced and genuine all at once. _“How’d Jon end up so much nicer than you?”_

_“Practice?”_ Jon remembered saying it like a question, hoping he was right in her eyes. The smile had fluttered in a way he found incredibly satisfying.

“Come on, it’s cold!” Arya shouted out of the car, opening and slamming the door again.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you!”

“Bye!” Jon lifted a hand to wave as Robb rushed back into the car. Sansa kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around his middle. He looked down at her, wondering how long she’d known he was over the moon for her. Her eyes were bright.

“Will you kiss me?”

He leaned closer without thinking, but the headlights flashed as Robb backed out of the driveway. Jon cleared his throat, “Arya might see.”

“I don’t care,” Sansa whispered. “I think our whole no PDA thing has sailed, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t remind me,” Jon leaned toward her, touching her cheek as he kissed her, soft as the snow falling around them. She curled closer, humming into him. He wanted to keep kissing her (he _should_ keep kissing her), but he found himself hesitating with a frown. “We should get back in the house before your toes fall off.”

“I guess so,” Sansa sighed. Jon picked her up again, carrying her across the threshold and kicking the door shut behind them carefully. Arthur locked it and armed the security system. “Night, Arthur.”

“Good night,” he smiled. “We’re going to let you sleep in tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry about getting up.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jon sighed. “Night.”

He carried Sansa down to his bedroom. It was slightly less sparse than the one in his apartment. A bookshelf sat on top of his dresser, bearing nick-knacks and old toys wherever there weren’t books. He set Sansa down on the bed. His mother had gotten him an ‘adult’ bed for when he came home from college. Otherwise, they’d be sharing a twin.

He pulled off his sweatshirt and shirt, hanging the first on the back of the door and throwing the second into the hamper by the closet.

Sansa jumped up, rushing out of the room to harass their toiletries back from Arthur or whoever it was that had grabbed them. She darted into Jon’s bathroom to brush her teeth. Jon nearly laughed, leaning against his dresser to watch her through the open door. It was so _normal_ to him, her obsessive need to brush her teeth before she tried to sleep. He joined her as she set about brushing her hair with one of Jon’s old paddle-brushes (mercifully devoid of years old hair). He brushed his teeth hastily.

He caught her staring at him in the mirror and offered a non-committal grunt. Her face cracked into a grin, and she elbowed him gently. He nudged her back, grunting again before spitting. “Wha’?”

“You’re cute,” she said simply. She tossed her hair over her other shoulder, stepping away so she could brush it without bumping him. He went back to brushing his teeth, though it was hard when he was trying to give her reflection bedroom eyes and a smirk. She laughed, shaking her head. “And you’ve got a good bum.”

“‘Han’koo,” Jon nodded. Sansa laughed again, finishing up with the brush. She set it on the counter and wrapped her arms around his middle. He rinsed off the toothbrush and spit until his mouth felt clean enough. He leaned his head against hers, watching her in the mirror. “You all right?”

“I think my mom meant ‘I want to talk to you to make sure you’re all right without someone else trying to speak for you,’” Sansa yawned. “But I just heard ‘without Jon’ and lost it a bit. I don’t like being ‘without Jon.’”

“I don’t like being ‘without Sansa.’”

“She’s so _weird_ about you,” Sansa sighed. Jon turned and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m older than you.”

Sansa snorted. “Not older enough to matter.”

“Yeah, but I used to be,” Jon muttered.

“Two years is never that much.”

“Is when the age of consent is smack dab in the middle-“

“Don’t lawyer me.”

“I’m not,” Jon protested. “I’m just saying nineteen-year-olds in college shouldn’t be dying for seventeen-year-olds to glance their way.”

A quiet rap on the door frame interrupted whatever response she’d planned to offer. Arthur stood there, jerking his thumb toward Jon’s bedroom. “Bed. Both of you. Now.”

“You’re obnoxious,” Jon groaned, letting Sansa slip away from him. He followed Arthur to his bedroom door, met his steely gaze from the hallway. “There’s- there’s no- no cameras in here, right?”

“All the security cameras are outside.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Good night, Jon.”

“Night, Arthur.”

“Night, Arthur!” Sansa called. Jon shut the door, turning to look at her. She flopped onto the bed with a little groan.

“You’re gonna bake if you try to sleep with all that on.”

“Ugh, fine.” Sansa wiggled out of her hoodie, handing it to him. He hung it up next to his. She pulled off her sweatpants and tried to throw them into the hamper but missed. Jon shoved them in, turning the lights out. He crawled into bed next to her, pulling his phone from his sweats.

“Did you tell Rhae and Eggy that we landed?”

“Arthur’s talking to Dad, they’ll know everything,” Jon said.

“Yeah, but it might be nice for them to hear it from you,” Sansa said. Jon sighed, pulling up their group chat on his phone. Sansa cuddled closer so she could see.

_Sansa and I made it home okay. We’re mostly just tired. Still have Arthur and all them with us. We’ll be all right._

“Should I add anything else?”

“No, I think that’s fine,” Sansa yawned, rolling onto her side. Jon shoved his phone under his pillow and curled around her.

“I’m sorry everything got crazy,” he whispered. “I never- I didn’t think all of that . . .”

“It’s not your fault, Jon,” Sansa murmured. She yawned again, fighting to speak through it. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“You thought it was going to be _worse_ than that?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.”

Jon sighed, kissing the back of her neck gently. He jumped when her freezing feet slid against his calves. “Sansa.”

“Hmm.”

“Your feet are fucking cold, love.”

“I know. Your legs are warm.”

“Oh, you,” he grumbled, trying to kick her away to no avail. She laughed quietly, turning to face him, her lip caught between her teeth. Gods, she was beautiful. Jon gripped her wrists before she could start poking at him, twisting her underneath him and settling between her thighs, pressing her hands to the pillows beside her head. “Your feet are cold.”

“Mhmm. Can I have a pair of socks?” Sansa pushed upward, capturing his lips with hers. He chased her down into the pillows, slowly working a broken little gasp out of her. Her hands struggled under his. “Jon.”

“What?”

She struck, both feet brushing against his legs. He hissed, rolling off her and stumbling through his dark room to the dresser. He opened the sock drawer, feeling through until he found a pair of socks. He heard Sansa struggle with the covers, then she maneuvered her legs out on top of them. Jon sat down on the end of the bed, separating the socks before feeling for her feet.

She was ticklish, he remembered. Perhaps dangerously so—she might accidentally kick him in the teeth if he surprised her. He secured one foot, rolling the sock over it. It was too big for her, but it was a thick woolen hiking sock. It’d be warm. He kept that foot carefully trapped as he reached for the other. He ran his finger along her bare sole quickly. She jerked.

“Jon.”

“What.”

“I swear to the Mother if you start tickling me, I’m going to scream.”

“That’d send Arthur running pretty fast.”

“I know. Don’t.”

“Oh, fine,” Jon sighed, rolling the other sock over her foot. He crawled back up the bed to her, helping her get them both back under the covers. She turned toward him, letting him settle an arm around and under her, laying her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, her leg over his.

“Thank you,” she hummed, yawning a third time. Jon yawned back. She trailed her fingers across his sternum idly.

“Are you going to be upset if I fall asleep?” Jon asked, his eyes already drooping shut. Gods, his body was just shutting down.

“Why would I be upset?”

“Just- just not how I pictured tonight ending,” Jon admitted. He felt Sansa kiss his cheek gently. “I’m already asleep.”

“I know,” she said. It sounded like she might be smiling. He hoped she was. “You can sleep, Jon. I need to sleep, too.”

“Okay,” Jon sighed. “In the morning then.”

“Sure,” Sansa kissed his cheek again. “In the morning.”

It was exceedingly bright when he woke up. He groaned, trying to cover his eyes with his arm. There was something on his arm, though. Something that also groaned.

Sansa.

He squinted, ducking a kiss to the top of her head. They should’ve closed the shades over the window that faced the backyard. Jon groaned again, carefully extricating himself from her. He sat up, wiping at his face. Sansa’s next breath came sharply, her hands grabbing for him.

“‘M just closin’ the blinds, love,” he mumbled.

“Why’s it bright?” she answered. She sat up next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Sans, I’m trying to fix it, get off.” He kissed her forehead, pushing her away from him gently. She muttered unintelligibly as he got to his feet and shut the blinds. It was better, but it was still far brighter than it should be. Jon squinted out the window. “The snow stuck.”

“It did? I thought it was going to melt,” Sansa yawned. She got up, swaying into him as they both glared at the backyard. It had to be a good three or four inches of snow. “It never sticks this early in the year.”

“Huh,” Jon shook himself. His phone was sticking out from under his pillow. He wiped at his face, grabbing for it just to know the time, maybe to check the weather. “Rickon and Bran are going to want to go sledding.”

“We can ask Robb to take them, meet them there.”

“Oh, gods, damn it to each and every hell,” Jon muttered.

_Rhae: Dad would only tell us that you weren’t hurt, you went all the way back to WINTERFELL?!?!?!?!_

_Eggy: They sSENT ARTHUR HOME WITH YOU_

_Eggy: I THOUGHT THE BASTARD WAS BROKE_

_Rhae: SERIOUESLY, WHAT THE HELL JON_

_Rhae: I’M GONNA MURDER DAD_

_Rhae: BARRISTAN SAYS HE THOUGHT WE WERE IN THE LOOP_

_Rhae: I DIDN’T EVEN KNW THERE WAS A LOOP TO BE IN_

_Eggy: WHY ARE THERE SECRETS LOOPS_

_Eggy: fuck he went do bed, didn’t he_

_Rhae: I mean he said they were tired_

_Rhae: you think they’re fucking_

_Eggy: this is still the group chat_

_Rhae: oh, I know. I said_

_Rhae: y o u t h i n k t h e y ’ r e f u c k i n g ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?_

_Eggy: I think they’re s l e e p i n g_

_Rhae: like a couple of bithces_

_Eggy: go the fuck to sleep_

There was about a four-hour break, then at seven am, it’d started back up again. It was more of the same.

_Jon: We were asleep. We’re going back to sleep. Tell dad I don’t care if he tells you stuff._

Then, there were the texts from Edd and Grenn, innocently asking if everything was going okay down in King’s Landing. He texted them quickly, _Sam told you, didn’t he?_

And _then_ , about four minutes past, there was a text from Sansa’s dad. Jon swallowed, sitting down. _Can you text me when you’re awake? I’d like to come over and say hello to Sansa, if she doesn’t mind. Only if she wants to._

“Sansa, love?” Jon said quietly. “Your dad texted you. Or, he texted me for you.”

“Yeah, I turned my phone off,” Sansa cleared her throat, leaving the window to sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. She read the text, her jaw clenched tightly. “You think Mum is sending him?”

“No, he’d own to that,” Jon said, taking his phone back. He opened up the weather. The time finally registered. “It’s one-thirty. . . . Supposed to be partly cloudy until the sun goes down, looks like it’s too cold for the snow to melt fully.”

“I- Can you tell him that we just got up and that you’ll text him when I’m ready?” Sansa said. Jon glanced at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Hey, what-“

“Remember when Viserys first contacted me, and he-“ Sansa pushed at her eyes hastily. “I’m just _stupid_ -“

“No, Sansa, come on, you know that’s not true,” Jon wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “What is it?”

“He- He said I could talk to Mum or that he could come get me from your apartment,” Sansa said, covering her face with her hands. “What if Mum took his phone?”

“I don’t think she’d- Your mum’s not the devil, Sansa, she’s a good Mum. She loves you, she loves all your siblings,” Jon said quietly. “She’s not _my_ mum. She doesn’t have to deal with me if she doesn’t want to.”

“She does if I’m dating you.”

“Well, I mean, yeah but-“

“He went from ultimatums to sounding like a guy in the friendzone.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the friendzone.”

“Jon.”

“Okay, yes, it is a drastic difference in tone,” Jon admitted. “But the crime and punishment approach didn’t work last time. Or maybe he was just trying to offer help and you read it as controlling when it wasn’t?”

“It didn’t read like I had any options, Jon.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I just think . . . He deserves the chance to explain himself.”

“Why? Because he’s my father?”

“Because he made a change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired but very determined to finish this so you know just keep waiting I guess


	36. Fathers and Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes (American) pancakes. Sansa quotes Star Wars. And cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, it's me again. I haven't been updating since one of the iOS updates nerfed the Notes app on my phone and it has a stroke every time I want to type more than a letter a second (I'm talking one Mississippi, hide and seek style seconds).

Sansa opened the door, hitting the right sequence on the security system. Her father offered her a smile, “Hi, Sans.”

“Hi, Dad,” her voice broke. She cursed herself silently. She’d washed her face, brushed her teeth, gotten dressed in Jon’s old clothes. She still felt like a strong wind would blow her to pieces. “Come- Come on in.”

He at least let her shut the door before he wrapped her up. He was taller than Jon, taller than her. She curled her head into his sternum and let herself cry. He just held her for a long time. She could hear Arthur and Jon talking in the kitchen. They were making pancakes.

She pulled away from her father after a while, wiping at her face. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” he said quietly. He stepped away to kick the snow off his boots carefully. “It’s good to see you, Sans.”

“Yeah, I, uh,” she cleared her throat. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he touched her shoulder gently. “You all right?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa admitted, pushing her thumbs into the corners of her eyes. She just needed to stop crying already. “It’s been a long forty-eight hours, you know?”

“It’ll turn out all right,” he said. “Always does, doesn’t it?”

Sansa tucked her shaking hands into the pocket of Jon’s old sweatshirt. “I guess so.”

“Sansa! Pancakes are up!” Arthur called.

“Do you mind if I eat?” Sansa asked.

“Of course, I don’t mind,” he nudged her toward the kitchen gently. She padded down the hardwood floors, thankful for the socks from Jon. And the rest of the clothes, too, she supposed, but the socks especially.

Arthur and Jon were both in front of the stove. Arthur advised Jon as he carefully flipped a pancake. “You gotta commit, see? Pancakes can sense fear.”

“Dad’s here,” Sansa said lamely, sitting down at the island. Jon and Arthur turned in unison. Sansa couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head a little. No wonder she’d thought Arthur was his dad when she was little. Jon set a plate down in front of her, kissing her cheek as he spun to hand her butter and maple syrup. “Thank you.”

“Blueberry and chocolate chip, as requested,” he said. Sansa grinned, watching him twist across the tiles in his socks like a kid. “Shut up.”

“Did I say anything?” He shot her a look, sticking his tongue out. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Dayne.”

“Stark.” Arthur and her father shook hands. It was a tad aggressive to Sansa’s eyes, but their serious demeanors broke. They laughed, hugging briefly. “It’s been too long.”

“I won’t argue that,” her father chuckled. He sat down on the other side of the island. “Have you eaten yet, Jon?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Do you want one?”

“We have more than enough batter,” Arthur said. Sansa buttered the three pancakes on her stack carefully, then poured syrup between each layer, adding a generous amount on top. She could feel Jon and Arthur watching her, waiting for her reaction. The tartness of the blueberries matched the sweetness of the chocolate perfectly. The pancake itself was springy from the egg they’d added to the batter, fried and crisp around the edges.

“Mm. Mhmm. Mmhmm,” she gave a thumbs up. Jon grinned triumphantly, spinning to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. He poured her a glass as she kept eating.

“I’d take one with just blueberries, if you don’t mind,” her father agreed. He laughed quietly, “Sansa, you might remember to breathe.”

“Ah, leave her be,” Arthur said. “They didn’t get to eat last night, and they slept through breakfast.”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind a little more clarification on the events of last night.”

Arthur ran through it while Jon made pancakes, first for her father, then for himself. Arthur had gotten up about an hour before them. Apparently, two of the guards had stayed awake to watch the house during the night, and Arthur and the other one (Sansa was _pretty_ sure his name was Oz) had the day shift. There’d been an early hours trip to the grocery store to stock the fridge and part of the pantry. Sansa really had no idea how long they were expected to stay there.

Jon sat down between Sansa and her father to eat, stealing the butter and syrup from her. They remained quiet unless Arthur asked for an extra detail. Sansa really didn’t pay much attention, focusing on eating her food instead.

“Do you think they found out about Jon?” Her father asked when Arthur was done. Jon didn’t react, still eating. Sansa soaked her last piece in as much of the lingering syrup as she could.

“Most of them at least figure that _longtime family friend_ really means _son of my dear friend Lyanna_ ,” Arthur said. Jon glanced at his phone as it buzzed. It was Grenn in their “Lethal Legal Bois” group chat. Sansa rolled her eyes at the title. Jon opened it.

“Twitter thinks I’m secretly Arthur’s kid. See?” Jon scrolled through his phone a little bit and opened a link. He showed it to her father and Arthur. “The boys at work have been sending me them all day.” He tilted the screen so Sansa could see. It was a photo of Jon in the background of the red carpet with Eggy, Arthur with a hand on both of their shoulders. “The internet’s been scouring for photos of you when you were younger to prove their point, but apparently, it’s not easy.”

“When the bodyguard becomes famous, he can’t guard,” said her father. “They try very hard to keep out of the press.”

“I don’t blame them,” Sansa muttered, reaching for her orange juice. She took a long sip.

“Sansa, if this all happened last night, why did you say it’d been a long forty-eight hours?”

Jon coughed violently; Sansa choked on her orange juice.

“The day before they got caught by paparazzi at brunch with his siblings,” Arthur supplied. Sansa stared at the empty plate before her, hacking almost as badly as Jon. He rubbed her back gently.

“Right,” her father said, plainly disbelieving. Sansa groaned as she tried to clear her throat. She took another sip of orange juice.

“Can we talk about that overbearing wife of yours now?” Arthur asked, taking their empty plates. She thanked him hoarsely. He loaded them into the dishwasher carefully.

Her father let out the heaviest sigh she’d ever heard. “She definitely knows how to take a thing too far.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“She just doesn’t want Sansa making the same mistakes she did,” he groaned, getting to his feet. “Apparently, Jon is a good outlet for that. I told her it wasn’t fair of her. She claims that Jon’s gotten more than enough time with her, considering she hasn’t seen Sansa in years.”

“Yes, well, I actually _like_ spending time with Jon.”

“You used to like spending time with your mum.”

“Well, thanks for _that_ stunning assessment,” Sansa muttered.

“Sans,” Jon took her hand softly.

“She’s just- She’s using me as an excuse, Dad. If I came home with any other guy, she’d be the perfect picture of hospitality. Jon stood between me and a _gun_ , Dad,” Sansa pushed to her feet, pulling away from him. “I’m not going to punish him for it.”

The doorbell rang. She had been planning on pacing, but she figured she ought to get the door. It rang again before she’d even gotten out of the kitchen. A third time by the time she’d gotten to the entrance hall. A fourth while she glanced at the camera to see who it was. She disarmed the alarm and opened the door.

“Sansy pants!”

A curly-red-haired demon child bounced onto her. She caught him, laughing. He was _big_. Practically a teenager—much bigger than the six-year-old she’d left to go to college.

“God, Rickon, you’re going to get taller than I am pretty soon,” she beamed as she set him down on the floor. Bran almost tackled her to the floor; Robb, still on the doorstep behind him, laughed. Arya snickered, too.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not fair, you get to see her regularly,” Rickon said sharply.

“Have you seen Dad? He vanished a little bit ago,” Arya said.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Sansa said, ruffling Bran’s hair. “He’s talking to Jon in the kitchen.”

“Jon!” Bran shouted, rushing away from her as quickly as he’d attacked. Sansa shook her head as Rickon bolted after him, dropping her hands to her hips.

“You’re tracking snow everywhere!”

“I forgot Jon owns this place,” Arya said, bending down to take off her snow boots. Robb shut the door behind him and did the same, kicking the snow off onto the rug by the door.

“Come on,” Sansa sighed, gesturing for them to follow when they were ready, heading back to the kitchen.

“Can we go sledding?” Rickon demanded. Sansa looked up, meeting Jon’s eyes where he was hugging Bran. He smiled slowly. She turned back to Rickon.

“Did you ask Dad?”

“I asked Jon.” Arya snorted, passing her into the kitchen. Sansa let out a deep breath.

“We’ll go in a little bit, okay?”

“Aw, that’s lame-“

“Hey, you just got here-“

“Why are you wearing Jon’s clothes?”

“Because I stayed here over night.”

“Are you and Jon really dating?” Bran asked.

“Yes.”

“I still think it’s fake,” Arya said.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. Jon whirled on him, bypassing pink and turning beet red. “Don’t even start. _Don’t even start.”_

“Start what?” He asked, covering his grin with a hand. He sobered, then laughed, “Not like I have any evidence.”

Sansa groaned, covering her face with her hands. The security video that’d been deleted. Jon chased Arthur around the island, quite the feat considering the sheer number of people in the kitchen. “I said shut up, you ghastly old man, you weren’t even on duty-“

“You have _evidence?”_ Arya demanded.

“ _Had_ evidence,” Sansa corrected.

“It’s gone now!” Jon said. “And it’s not even worth mentioning to begin with!”

“I’m sensing it’s about time I politely bowed out,” her father said, backing out of their way.

“Dad, can we go sledding?” Rickon asked.

“If you’re careful,” he said. He looked at Sansa. “And you take two cars.”

So that Mum didn’t find out she and Jon had joined them until it was too late. Great. _That_ was going to help her (and Jon) back into her mother’s good graces.

“My car is back at Arya’s place,” she said.

“You can take mine,” Robb said.

“Yes!” Rickon pumped his fists, thudding back out to the front door. “Come on, Bran! We gotta put snow pants on!”

“Hang on!” Bran followed him hastily.

“The security system-“

“I got it,” Sansa sighed. She walked her father to the front door, hiding her hands in the sweatshirt pocket as her fists clenched awkwardly. She rolled her eyes at the open door, watching them sprint down the driveway. Her father chucked quietly. “I didn’t realize they were going to get even crazier.”

“They still crash just the same,” he shrugged. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Yeah. Probably,” Sansa sighed. “If Jon and I are still invited to dinner.”

“I’ll make sure you both are.”

She rearmed the security system and closed the door behind him, glancing at the mess of melted snow between her and the kitchen. She was going to get her nice socks wet, and it would be incredibly annoying, and she’d have to ask Jon for another pair, and what if he didn’t-

“Sans?” Jon came down the hallway toward her. She smiled weakly, shaking her head. “Are you-“

“I don’t want to cry again. I’m sick of crying. I don’t want to do it.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” he said softly, stopping very, very close. “You’re allowed to cry. Okay? Shit’s gotten crazy, you’re allowed to cry.”

“I haven’t seen them in so long,” she wiped under her eyes. “And I- I should’ve come home sooner, I just- I _couldn’t_ , I just- couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Jon touched her chin softly, pulling her gaze to his. “Why not, Sansa?”

“I didn’t want to come home with my tail tucked between my legs,” Sansa whispered. “I would’ve crawled into my bed and stayed there. I couldn’t- I couldn’t. I had to be- I had to do it myself.”

“Sansa, that was months ago,” Jon said.

“Running back home is- is giving up. I didn’t want to give up.”

“It’s not giving up to want to go home,” Jon shook his head. “Sans-“

“I’m- so _broken_ , Jon, I’m still so broken,” she said, her body shaking as she tried to control herself. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t need to cry.

“You’re not,” Jon pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly. “You’re not broken, Sans.”

“Then why can’t I stop crying?” She laughed humorlessly into his shoulder.

“Because you’re not an emotionless robot?”

She huffed out another laugh. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, the artificial tear ducts are working real well if you are.”

“Oh, thanks, it really means a lot,” Sansa pulled away from him, offering a watery smile. He kissed her forehead for a lingering moment. She sighed, closing her eyes. She wiped her face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt carefully. She swallowed, tried clearing her throat a little. “Is Arthur talking to Arya and Robb?”

“Probably,” Jon said.

“You know, I think he might be the only person on the planet capable of convincing her that we’ve had sex,” Sansa muttered.

“I thought you convinced her with the whole _Jon is mine_ thing and your premonition about me eating you out,” Jon asked.

Sansa wound her arms around his neck carefully. “I think deleting a sex tape is slightly more convincing.”

“That was Barristan, not Arthur,” Jon hummed.

“Yeah, but he clearly knows about it.”

“And it wasn’t _really_ a sex tape.”

“It kinda was.” She kissed him before he could argue. She liked kissing Jon, she really did. It was like a hard reset for her brain. Probably something to do with chemicals. Or maybe she just liked it.

They hadn’t gotten to do anything since waking up to a text from her father seemed to be a distracting kind of mood killer.

“Oh- _ew!”_

“I think we just convinced her,” Jon groaned, turning to look over his shoulder. “Do you fucking mind?!”

“Actually, Snow, I fucking do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have some work to do on this, and hopefully I'll have the family dinner style chapters out in time for you to avoid participating in your own family holidays (whether that be over Zoom or not). I really need the fall/winter vibes but even the Midwest US is serving me 76 degrees (F) so.......
> 
> Also, I'm having an issue where I've been reading fics that are great in ideas but meh in execution, be it writing style, missing intended impacts, (flaccid smut) or pacing, and I'm struggling so, so, so, so hard to just remember what fics I'm actually working on and not rewriting a 160+ chapters into like 60 that actually make sense. Anyone else rewrite stuff in their head to 'fix' it and then feel really bad? Like really really bad?


	37. Sledding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks go sledding in the slush

“Ow!” Jon rubbed the back of his head, turning around to glare at Rickon. He cackled, sprinting back up the hill with his sled bouncing behind him. “No headshots, Rickon!”

“He doesn’t have good enough aim for that,” Sansa said flatly, unfolding from the disc she’d ridden down the hill on. She brushed herself off, looking up the hill. It was quickly turning into a mess of sludge. There wasn’t enough snow, and the ground wasn’t hard yet. It wasn’t great sledding, but it was good enough for the little ones.

“You’ve got too much leg to use that stupid thing,” Jon shook his head, offering a hand to help her up. With her flushed cheeks and hair escaping her borrowed beanie, she was the brightest spot in the brown and white wood. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet, letting her pass him the tiny sled.

“I’m doing all right,” she said. There wasn’t much of a point in hand holding while they were wearing gloves, so he let her go so they could start trudging up the hill. Jon glared at his feet as they struggled through the trampled brush and slick mud. “Are you-“

“Watch it!” Arya cried, her sled bouncing toward them. Jon grabbed Sansa’s arm and hauled her out of the way, cursing, to hide behind a tree. It was a miracle they both kept their feet under them, and Sansa clung to the tree long after Arya had rocketed past. Jon bit back his smile, pulling her away from it tentatively.

“She’s as bad as the little ones,” Sansa shook her head.

“She _is_ a little one, who are you kidding?” Jon smiled, glancing up the hill to check for any more errant Starks before starting back up the hill. The coast was clear—Rickon and Bran were both halfway up the hill. Arthur was at the top, waiting and keeping an eye on everything. Sansa hooked their arms together.

“We should make hot chocolate for everyone,” Sansa sighed. “Did they get hot chocolate fixings?”

“Arthur told them you like to bake, I don’t know if that translated to anything helpful,” Jon said. He wasn’t sure what exactly the Stark hot chocolate recipe was, but it was always superb.

“Jon.”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you pay for an apartment if you can barely afford your student loans and you have an actual house already?”

“‘Cause Robb and Theon needed a roommate, and it’s closer to work.”

“It’s not cheaper than a car.”

“Probably not, no.”

“Jon-“

“It’s great when there are guards and Starks and you around,” Jon said. He took a deep breath, slowing down slightly. “But when it’s just me, it sucks.”

“What if it wasn’t just you? What if it was just . . . _us?”_ Sansa said, her words labored from the slope of the hill. “Because getting privacy at- with Robb or Arya around just- it’s never private. Not really.”

“Sansa Stark, are you trying to convince me to let you move in for the sole purpose of having sex?”

“I can also bake you things.”

“What about moving to Oldtown for your masters? Or High Garden?”

“I- Would rather stay in the North. . . . If you want that.”

“I do want that,” Jon said, drawing to a stop as they crested the hill. Robb and Rickon shot off down the hill at the same time, racing each other. Bran wasn’t far behind. Jon set the sled down and kicked it up the hill a little so it wouldn’t take off without them, taking a deep breath. He looked at Sansa for a little bit, really just looked at her. “You have to fix things with your mum if you’re going to live across the street from her.”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Sansa shook her head, slipping her hands around his waist. “The publishing houses I applied for? Three of them are between here and your work.”

“Sansa, I’m not trying to shatter your domestic fairytale dreams, but your mum hates me. Moving in across the street from her with you is not going to help.”

“Domestic fairytale-“ she scoffed, pouting at him.

“Besides, we’re going to be stuck in the house until- until Arthur and the others go home,” Jon said. “You may not want to go back someplace you’ve been under house arrest at.”

“It’s not house arrest,” she rolled her eyes. He gave her a flat look. “We _literally_ left the house, Jon.”

“Aye, but with how many attached strings?”

“All things considered, not many. At all.”

“We’re not going to have a lick of privacy until this whole thing is over, and if we move in across the street from your parents, we’ll never get any privacy at all.”

“It’s called boundaries, Jon,” Sansa said. “And I’ve just about burned my last bridge with Mum, so . . . I doubt she’d try to come borrow sugar.”

“Your dad came for pancakes this morning.”

“Because we almost died last night, I don’t think it’ll be a regular occurrence.”

“Do you really want to live in that house?”

“I want to live with you.”

Jon blinked. “Really?”

“You hadn’t picked up on that?” Sansa raised her eyebrows. He scowled at her. “ _Yes,_ I would like to live with you, Jon Snow. And it doesn’t _have_ to be in your house that has been paid off and will contribute to alleviating the financial burden caused by your student loans.”

“Don’t talk to me like an accounting minor,” he groaned.

“Why? Am I making too much sense? I mean seriously, Jon, it’s not more than half an hour from-“

“I’m sorry, what was your reason for not wanting to go home? That it was cheating, failing?”

“It’s not-“ Sansa pulled away from him to punch his arm.

“That was pathetic form.”

“I never said cheating. You think letting your father help you is cheating?”

“Sans, Davos is my therapist.”

“I’m cheaper.”

“I thought women were expected to do too much emotional labor in their relationships.”

“Jon, can we talk about this like adults or not?”

“Hey, assholes!” Arya shouted. “Quit standing around and sled already!”

Jon sighed, taking a step back. “I guess not.”

“Is it weird that I miss her not believing us?” Sansa asked. Jon shrugged. “Let’s just not let her find out that she was right.”

“Right about what?”

Jon and Sansa both jumped, whirling to look at Arthur. He watched them suspiciously as Sansa slipped her arm through Jon’s again. Jon tried to steady his breathing. “Oh, erm, nothing.”

“You two are horrifically bad liars.”

“We do our best,” Jon winced. “We were thinking about going home to make a batch of hot chocolate, if we have the stuff for it.”

“That or a hot shower,” Sansa muttered. “I’m sweaty _and_ cold.”

“Better let the others know,” Arthur nodded. “Are you inviting them all back with you?”

“Is that okay?” Sansa’s pale blue eyes fell to Jon. He nodded, even if he wasn’t sure if she was asking him or Arthur.

“It’s fine, I’m just trying to judge what the evening will be like,” he shrugged. “Tell Robb when you’re ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry, I know we can be a lot,” Sansa said.

“That’s perfectly fine, Sansa,” Arthur waved her off. “Lyanna hated her house when it was empty.”

Maybe Jon had picked more up from her than he’d thought. She’d never talked about the help they’d gotten from Rhaegar, even after Jon knew and had met Rhae and Eggy. Even after he’d met _him_. Jon knew a lot about the legal system. He knew a lot about the gates to entry as well. Unpaid internships that many people couldn’t afford. Law school itself. The lingering boys club attitude. The lack of trusted mentors. He wanted to be a lawyer, and it used to be that he’d have to beat the odds to do so. His father wanted to hand it to him. While Sam and Edd and Grenn and Pyp would keep struggling, he’d sail by with a big check from dear old dad. They’d hate him.

“Hey, you guys all right?” Robb asked, venturing over cautiously. Jon spotted the little ones making snowballs behind them.

“We were going to head back and try to make hot chocolate. Not sure I have all the ingredients, though,” Sansa said.

“Well, whatever you’re missing, I’m sure Mum has it. Text me or Arya what you need, and she can borrow it stealthily for a little bit.”

“Borrow stealthily?”

“Steal and return,” Jon said.

“Right,” she frowned. Her phone chimed from within her coat, and she excused herself, digging it out as she wandered toward Arthur’s vantage point.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Arya,” Robb muttered. “She- she really thought you guys were faking it, for your family and ours, I guess. She just thought Sansa wanted to piss Mum off.”

“Maybe she does,” Jon hummed, watching her as she frowned while she talked on the phone.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen either of you smile as much as you do around each other. Sansa’s not with you to piss Mum off; you make her happy,” Robb dropped a hand to his shoulder. “And she makes you happy.”

“I won’t argue that,” Jon sighed. “I just . . . She’s clearly upset about your mum. And- I don’t know, I don’t think she should argue with her mum over me. Like, isn’t there a mother-daughter bond that shouldn’t be trifled with?”

“Mum thinks you’re going to take Sansa south to King’s Landing to become famous and rich and that she’ll change or never come home or you’ll turn Sansa against her, I don’t really know. She’d kind of paranoid right now. Really stressed, you know, and not handling it well at all,” Robb said. Jon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Their stuff hadn’t come from King’s Landing yet, and he hadn’t had his glasses in too long. A headache creeped ever nearer. “Which doesn’t excuse her taking it all out on you. I don’t- like I still don’t get what her issue is.”

“So, um, when I found out Rhaegar was my dad, my mum told me that four people in the world knew,” Jon took a deep breath. “And, at the time, I was too freaked out to figure it out. I told your dad, and I don’t think he was surprised. At the time, I thought he just took it really well, but he must have already known.”

“Four people,” Robb nodded. “Your mum, your dad, my dad . . . And Arthur?”

“He was there when I was born,” Jon nodded. “Which means to your mum, I was just some fatherless mongrel for-“

“She thought you were Dad’s.”

“Shut up,” Jon scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not funny.”

“I heard them talking once, fighting, something about how Arya looked more like you than any of the rest of us, how she got along with you better. I was . . . _real_ confused at the time,” Robb muttered. Jon stared at him silently, horror creeping up around the edges of his mind. “But if she was accusing Dad of . . .”

“That’s- she- you’re kidding, right?” Jon let out a breath that might have been a nervous laugh. If she thought he was Ned’s son—and Sansa was- gods, if that’s what she thought, then it was a miracle he’d survived adolescence at all.

“I was thinking about it last night ‘cause they were fighting and I’ve—not to be a downer or anything—but I’ve only ever heard them fight that way about you,” Robb said lowly. Jon clenched his teeth. _Great_ , he was the cause of semi-regular strife to the Stark’s marriage. Just what he’d always wanted. “And I guess it unlocked some cursed memories.”

“But- I- our mothers were friends. The worst part of the funeral was when your mum tried to be nice to me and started crying and ran away,” Jon said. Robb gave him a look, his eyebrows lifted. Jon swallowed, looking down the hill at the mess of snow and dirt. “Shit.”

“Come on, what else makes sense?”

“But she knows I’m not- she knows about my dad now, she shouldn’t- why would she still be upset now?” Jon demanded. “That doesn’t make sense. I don’t- I don’t know when she- when did she find out? It’s not like- like all of a sudden she was nicer to me.”

“Do I look like a psychologist to you?” Robb asked. “I don’t know! I guess she’s upset about Sansa now. It’s- she’s compound upset.”

“Great,” Jon said. “That’s- That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Robb said lamely. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Jon shrugged. _Why, why, why._ What reason did Catelyn Stark have to hate him now? _Sansa_. If it wasn’t to do with Jon’s father, it had to be Sansa. That was the only explanation.

Except _Sansa_ was the one who wasn’t communicating with Catelyn. He couldn’t _make_ her clear the air. And if he went over to speak _for_ Sansa, Catelyn would vanish him the same way she had Sansa’s shittiest ex. He couldn’t do anything _._ He couldn’t do _anything_. He couldn’t _do_ anything.

And he didn’t _know_ anything, either.

“I fucking hate this,” Jon muttered, sniffling a little from the cold. He swiped at his nose idly, looking down the hill, across the snow coated forest. It was pretty. There was a trail, not far from the neighborhood, that went down to a little bench by a pond. He wondered if Sansa liked it there. “She should just go _talk_ to your mum. She just- she has to be _right_ , all the time.”

“She usually _is_ right, Jon,” Robb said quietly. “Like- I get it’s her house and all, but Mum had no reason to just ban you from the premises. It was a shitty thing to do, and it’s not _your_ fault your uncle’s a lunatic.”

“Thanks,” Jon said drily.

“Fucking tell her you’re caught in the middle of it,” Robb said. “Tell her you don’t like it.”

“I _have.”_

“Then tell her again. Tell her better,” Robb said. “She’s going off because of _you_ , Jon, if she realizes it’s not what you want, she’ll probably stop.”

Jon swallowed, looking down at his feet. “But . . . No one ever . . . Does stuff like this for me. I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful. I am- I really am. I just . . .”

“Don’t want Mum to murder you?”

“Something like that.”

“Arya!” Sansa shouted. Jon glanced toward her, looking for the offending snowball. There was none in sight. “Come here, Marg and I have a plan!”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jon muttered.

“I’m going to have to agree to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadass thought I already posted this chapter.... sorry


End file.
